The Unlucky Thirteenth
by Secre
Summary: The tapes have reached Mr Porter. How will he react to the tapes the girl he failed to save has sent him? Rated T for suicide. There is a trigger warning on a couple of chapters. (Mr. Porter is a character who truly intrigued me; we hear so little about him but he has such a large impact, additionally he is the only adult on the list which means his reactions are very different.)
1. Unlucky Thirteenth

**Chapter 1: Unlucky thirteenth**

You cannot believe how many times I have replayed that last conversation. How many times I have dissected it finding all the points where I went wrong. The hints that I missed. All leading to the girl I failed to save. I know, I didn't force her to take those pills, I wasn't the one to make that final choice, but believe me, her blood is on my hands. She came to me for help and I failed her. She told me that she wanted everything to stop, she told me. And I let her walk out of that room without a backwards glace. I didn't listen to her, I didn't hear her, I didn't catch her. For the rest of my life that girls blood is going to be on my hands. Even without anyone helping, that isn't something I will ever forget. I could have saved her. And I let her walk away.

When I opened that shoebox sized package, I had no idea what I was expecting. I had no idea how much my life would be turned upside down. I opened it without thinking, I do a lot of things without thinking now. Ever since her death my mind has been completely pre-occupied by what I failed to do. So those audio tapes falling out was something I hadn't expected, for a start nobody plays tapes anymore. But I have to admit, I was intrigued. Seven tapes? Someone obviously had something they wanted to say. Something they wanted me to hear. It didn't take long to drag my old player out of the attic and slot the tape marked as the first in. But when I hit play I nearly went through the roof.

_Hello, boys and girls. Hannah Baker here. Live and in stereo._

I'll admit I nearly broke my neck in my haste to reach that stop button. With my heart jumping I just sat and stared in complete shock at the old machine in front of me. It couldn't be. Hannah is dead. This had to be some sort of sick practical joke by someone with a really warped sense of humour. It had to be. But the sweat on my hands and forehead, the shiver running through my entire body, the way my heart is racing tells me what I don't want to hear. This was no joke. This was for real. This was Hannah. I know the voice. How could I forget it. The shiver becomes a full on tremble, I'm shaking like a leaf. I can barely hit the button to start the tapes back up again.

_I'm about to tell you the story of my life. More specifically, the story of why my life ended. And if you are listening to these tapes, you're one of the reasons why._

I can't help myself. I collapse into the chair behind me head in hands, simply shaking as Hannah's voice washes over me. Nobody else had blamed me. Everyone had been so understanding. Even when I'd tried to hand in my resignation, our headmaster refused to take it. He said I couldn't take what had happened personally. That no one could have seen the signs. I knew how false that was of course, I'd had her in my office. But it was still comforting to hear those words. Nobody objected to me taking that week off. I couldn't believe it; nobody blamed me. Except for me. And clearly one other person. Hannah herself.

The tape was still playing as my thoughts raced through my brain. My chest ached with a sudden tightness that I couldn't explain. But I couldn't turn off the tape. I couldn't not hear the words spilling out into the empty room around me. I couldn't not listen. There was no way I could stop the flow of words seeping into my brain. I couldn't stop it. How could I?

_And you, lucky number thirteen, you can take the tapes straight to hell. Depending on your religion, maybe I'll see you there._

There's this sudden desperate urge to find out where I belong on these tapes. But somehow, deep in the pit of my roiling stomach, I know. I was the last person Hannah reached out to and I let her walk away. I know exactly where I am on these tapes. I desperately hope I'm wrong, that it's some mistake. But much like the day I stood staring out at my class, looking at that empty seat, I know I'm not. That day when Hannah didn't turn up and I heard the whispers in the corridor, that day when I was staring at her desk praying I was wrong. Knowing I wasn't. Then I simply walked out of the class. Now? That isn't an option. This isn't some group of students I'm meant to be teaching. This is the voice of a dead girl talking to me. Blaming me. A girl I already failed once. I can't fail her again.

_I know what you're all thinking. Hannah Baker is a slut._

My head leaps out of my arms. I actually can't believe what I've just heard. She had spoken of rumours; is this was she meant? I joked about it. I laughed it off. I saw her as over-reacting to a simple problem. I didn't see the pain. I can hear it now. I can hear the anger in her voice, the sheer rage. I can hear her. In my office she came across as nervous. I didn't realise how close to the end she was. I didn't see how desperate she was. But I can hear it now. I can hear it in the tremble of her voice, the tears that are hidden behind the anger.

_Wrong. Hannah Baker is not, and never was a slut. Which begs the question, What have you heard? _

_I simply wanted a kiss. I was a freshmen girl who had never been kissed. Never._

My head sinks back into my arms. I'm shaking so hard I can barely breathe. The innocence and broken trust in that single line is heart-breaking. But what Justin did wasn't any more than thousands of teenagers have done before. He egged the pudding, pretended for the sake of his ego that she'd gone further than she had. It wasn't right, but is it worth this?

This can't be real. This can't be happening. The dead do not speak. For the voice of the dead girl is relentless, pounding against me like a tsunami, crushing me in their grip. I am listening to what is essentially a train wreck in progress, and worse still, I am a part of it. I know how this story ends. The tape rolls to an end and I can't move. I'm sat shell-shocked. I know I need to turn the tape over but I can't. I can't move.


	2. A simple list

**Chapter 2: A Simple List**

_Alex Standell. It's your turn._

These are teenagers. These are kids that I teach. Kids I have to look in the eye tomorrow. If the tapes have made it to me then these have already heard it. Nobody was willing to call the dead girl's bluff and so they've made their way to me. The responsible adult. The one who had the power to save a sixteen year olds life and squandered it. Why pass them on? What is in these tapes that scared them enough to pass on what essentially blames them for a girl's death? Why did he pass the tapes on in the hopes of keeping this between the select few? And how have they managed to deal with it? I don't know how to cope with it. And I'm an adult. The guidance counsellor no less. Yet I feel like I've been hurtled into some nightmarish movie.

_Every single event documented here may never have happened had you, Alex, not written my name on that list. It's that simple._

Now that…that is harsh. I'm borrowing words from my students because in all honesty, I have none of my own left to give. It was a list. A simple, single list. Perhaps in poor taste, but again, they're teenagers. They are the very definition of poor taste. It was certainly juvenile; Best Ass in the Freshman Class. But we've already covered that. Surely he doesn't deserve this? The list did the rounds for a while with the kids until they got bored of it. Barely anyone would even remember it now. For the first time since Hannah's death I'm dragged out of the mire of my own contemplation's, my own guilt. I honestly feel sorry for the boy. He must be going through hell. I know I'm responsible. I know I could have saved her. I was her last chance. And I failed. I deserve to be haunted by the memory. She's right, I deserve to be on those tapes. But Alex? He's just a kid. He couldn't have foreseen the repercussions of that list. No one could.

I stand up shakily to grab the bottle of whiskey. It isn't far away. It never is these days. Before I killed a girl I barely drank. Now? Well, lots of things are different now. It's as if my life has been split into Before and After. And that day where I stood staring at an empty desk, desperately trying to will a teenager into that chair, praying to a God I don't even believe in. That day where I walked out of a classroom full of silent teenagers, praying none of them saw the fear in my face, the tears starting to well up in my eyes. That day is the dividing line. That day is when Before became After.

_Alex, am I saying your list gave him permission to grab my ass? No, I'm saying it gave him an excuse. And an excuse is all this guy needed._

I'm still shaking but now it's more due to rage than anything else. One of my seniors had the audacity to behave like that? I might expect it from a freshman, but a senior? It borders on assault. Not the 'ass-grabbing' perhaps, but definitely the wrist grab. But again, Alex simply put her name on the list, he didn't grab her, he didn't do anything to deserve this. The senior, maybe. But Alex was just being an idiot. He could never have foreseen this. Perhaps the list gave others something to focus on, but he could never have anticipated that it would go this far. But Hannah's voice is merciless, she's dragging him into this hell along with her. Like she's dragging me. The voice of the dead is relentless, it drags me through a story that I don't want to hear. A story I wish I'd never known.

_The point is, when you hold people up for ridicule, you have to take responsibility when other people act on in._

This is unfair. This is going to destroy him. It might well end up destroying me. I've already finished one whiskey and am pouring another when the voice stops. For long seconds after the second side finished though her voice reverberated through my mind. She's already told me who the next person is. This is leaving a great swathe of destruction in its wake and these teenagers are going to be haunted for the rest of their days. Just like me. Did each of them sit, just like me, staring blankly at the tapes in front of them dreading the moment when their name comes up? What did they think when they heard my piece in this? Do they blame me too? Or are they too busy blaming themselves?

_Jessica my dear…you're next._


	3. Couldn't see the scars

**Chapter 3: Couldn't see the scars**

It takes a long time for me to get out of my chair this time. I can't seem to make my legs function. I don't want to change the tape over, I don't want to hear anymore. I can't take anymore. As I staggered towards the cassette player I felt so much older than my years. My movements were slow and laboured, my hands were shaking as if I had palsy. It was as if I had aged ten years in the last few minutes. I could barely keep hold of the tape in my hands, it kept slipping before I could put it in the machine. It seemed to take hours before the thing finally slotted into place and I closed my eyes, trying to somehow find the strength to hit the button to make it play.

_In case you don't remember, Ms Antilly was the guidance counsellor. Later that year she moved to another school district. Which is very unfortunate as it turns out. But that is for another tape._

My heart is pounding so fast that I'm certain I must be close to a heart attack. It's me she's referring to. It's subtle but it's definitely me. It's very unfortunate that Ms Antilly left because I was her replacement. It's very unfortunate because otherwise a sixteen year old might be alive. I didn't listen hard enough. I didn't offer Hannah a hand to help her out of whatever dark place she had gone to. My hands are almost painfully clamped around my head. I laughed, I made jokes. But I didn't help her. I didn't see her. I never imagined that she would take her own life. She was sixteen for heavens sake. Sixteen year olds don't just decide to take a huge concoction of drugs. Sixteen year olds don't die like that. It doesn't happen. Particularly not bright, intelligent girls with a smile that can light up a room. Or so I thought. That cost a girl her life.

Would Ms Antilly have done better? Would she have seen all those signs that I missed? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe Hannah would still be alive.

_In a contest of who's-got-the-biggest-balls, all of you listening should know that Jessica wins._

Jessica. One of the new girls. She arrived at about the same time as Hannah. I mentally flip through the faces of all the students I've taught til I find her. Outgoing, confident, able to hold her own in an argument. One of my more promising students. It doesn't take a great deal to start my stomach roiling again. I begin to regret the whiskey as I pour another one regardless. What has she done to deserve a tape? I don't think I want to know. In fact I'm certain I don't want to know. I have always tried to stay out of the student gossip. As a teacher moonlighting as a counsellor it's never helpful to have pre-conceptions.

But Hannah's voice has softened as she speaks of Jessica and the beginning of their friendship. It's as if she's reliving one of the few memories that doesn't bring her pain. How did I miss the pain in her voice when she came to see me? How did I miss her desperation? It's so clear when I put it against the Hannah speaking here. I want to pause the tape. Stop the tale here. Before she died. Before anything else happens. I want to rewind the past and change the future. But I can't. The only thing I can do is keep listening, just keep listening as these tapes relate the final moments of a young girl's life.

_I had hoped – silly me – that there would be no more rumours when my family moved here. That I had left the rumours and the gossip behind me...for good._

I can't remove my head from my hands, it's suddenly become too heavy to lift. It's not because of the conflict between the two girls, it's because of how much more I must have missed. How much more I neglected to see. I thought it was bad enough that I'd allowed her to walk out of my office without a backwards glance. Her blood is already on my hands because of that. But I taught her day in, day out. And I didn't see. I didn't look. I didn't even see what was going on at the time. But perhaps more importantly, I didn't bother to look closer and see the pain that had gone before. I let it slide past me.

I was meant to be the guidance counsellor. I was meant to see these things. I was meant to be the one looking. I'm meant to help them. But it turns out I failed Hannah in more than one way. My eyes are blurry. It takes me a second to realise that it's tears that are obstructing my view. I just don't have the energy to wipe them away. I don't have the energy to do anything but listen to that voice coming out of the old record player. The voice of the dead.

_It's more than just a scratch. It's a punch in the stomach and a slap in the face. It's a knife in my back because you would rather believe some made up rumour than what you knew to be true. Jessica, my dear, I'd really love to know if you dragged yourself to my funeral. And if you did, did you notice your scar?_

I can't stop the tears from falling. I can't stop them. I'm helpless against the shudders of my body as I give into the fear. Give into the helplessness I feel.

She couldn't have seen the scar Hannah. There was no funeral. None of us could see the scars.


	4. Wasted Whiskey

**Chapter 4: Wasted Whiskey**

I couldn't continue. Not now. Not like this. I felt completely drained and I was only three tapes in. I hadn't even heard what she had to say about me. Staggering to my feet I reached clumsily for my car keys before remembering the whiskey. For a split second I didn't care. For that split second I just want to go, I want to not need to care, not need to worry. But then the face of Hannah comes to my mind and somehow it merges into the face of another teenager, then another, then another, all staring at me with dead eyes. All blaming me. I've already got one girls blood on my hands. Am I willing to risk adding another?

But even without the car I need to get out of the house, I need to get away from Hannah's relentless voice. I need to get away from the thoughts, away from the memories, the answers to questions I hadn't thought to ask. Answers I didn't want to know. I had no idea where I was walking to; I just had to escape from that empty flat filled with the voice of a teenager I killed. I wanted to escape the judgement and the blame, but that would be impossible. Even without the tapes playing, I could still hear her voice resounding around my head as clearly as if she were speaking to me.

_And what about you – the rest of you - did you notice the scars you left behind? No. Probably not._

All I could hear was her voice. I more or less stumbled into the first pub I saw. Heads raised as I walked in, then quickly looked back down again. I must look an absolute wreck. The bartender asked me what I'd like and I mumbled that I'd have a whiskey. Pouring the shot the man looked at me closely, before putting it down in front of me.

"That one's on the house. You look like you need it."

He looked straight at me as he said it. The unexpected kindness of a complete stranger took me completely off-guard. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't find any words. So I just nodded as my eyes started to sting. When I'd finished, I looked up and silently pushed a twenty across the bar. Again, the bartender looked at me searchingly. Then, carefully taking the twenty he reached out and put the bottle of whiskey in front of me with his hand resting lightly on the top.

"Car keys."

Such a simple sentence. And yet within those two words was something more. Those two words held concern and care. To a degree they held understanding. He didn't know what had happened. He couldn't. But he could see that something was wrong. And he was offering the only kindness he had to offer. Despite not having driven here I wordlessly pass my keys across the bar. He nodded, detached the car key and calmly put it on the top shelf then passed the others back to me. Looking closely I could see there were a couple of others there.

"It'll be here for you tomorrow."

The tears that had been gathering behind my eyes silently fall and I look down quickly, unwilling to let this stranger see a grown man reduced to tears by such a simple action. When I looked up I found that my second glass had already been filled. I don't know how long I sat there, completely silent, nursing glass after glass of whiskey.

But however much I tried to avoid it, however much I didn't want to go back, I knew I had to. I had to hear the rest of Hannah's tale. I held responsibility for her death. The least I could do was hear her final words.

"I want to see you collecting your keys tomorrow, ok?"

The bartender had come over to me as I stood slightly unsteadily. Again, he was looking at me, searching my eyes. For a second I didn't understand. Then the realisation hit me. Whilst I was thinking about the last words of a girl lost forever, he was concerned I was at the same point. He was concerned for me. Again, the tears started to well.

Looking straight at him, I just nodded and spoke for the first time since I'd ordered my drink.

"Thank you."

Was that all Hannah needed? Someone to offer the slightest kindness when she really needed it? Someone to care enough to look after her? Someone to hold her hand and notice her tears? Was that what she needed from me?

I don't know. But I guess I'm about to find out.


	5. What was left

**Chapter 5: What was left**

Back in the flat I sat, staring at the silent machine in front of me. Astounding how such an old machine had changed everything so quickly. The walk back had sobered me up enough to be hate the thought of pressing that play button again. I was sober enough to dread the thought of Hannah's voice coming out of that player as if she were alive.

_For example you'd better be quiet – extremely quiet – if you're going to be a Peeping Tom. Because what if they found out. What if she…what if I…found out? Guess what, Tyler Down? I found out. I feel sorry for you, Tyler. I do. Everyone else on these tapes, so far, must feel a little relieved. They come off as liars or jerks or insecure people lashing out at others. But your story, Tyler…it's kind of creepy._

Oh my God. Now that, I hadn't expected. In fairness, I hadn't expected any of this. I hadn't expected her death, hadn't expected these tapes. But Tyler Down? A Peeping Tom? If I was interested in such things then that was gossip worth having. Tyler, the geeky kid obsessed with the school yearbook, always carrying that camera around his neck. Brilliant at photography but rather slow at everything else. I've had to tutor him nearly every year just to get him through the end of year finals.

_Who guesses where I'm standing now?_

_If you said outside Tyler's window you'd be right._

For a second I forget that I am listening to the voice of a girl I watched being buried just three weeks ago. For a second I can only see the cosmic justice in this. She doing to him what he did to her; I actually snort out loud. Then common sense re-asserts itself and all sense of amusement vanishes. This a police worthy offence. I have to report it. Is this why I've been mailed these tapes? So that things are dealt with properly?

_The other girl wasn't looking at your face, Tyler._

_"Oh my God!" she screamed. "He's cramming his dick in his pants!"_

I groan. The other teenagers? They can be explained, they can be excused. But this? This I have to deal with. This I can't ignore. But what can I do? I have a dead girl, an unidentified teenager and these tapes as 'proof'. It hardly constitutes solid evidence. And I can hardly announce over the loud speakers that if the girl who had a back massage from Hannah Baker whilst Tyler took pictures is in school, would she please come to my office. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do about any of this.

_Your presence never left. After your visits, I twisted my blinds shut every night. L locked out the stars and I never saw lightening again. Each night, I simply turned out the lights and went to bed._

_Why didn't you leave me alone, Tyler? My house. My bedroom. They were supposed be safe for me. Safe from everything outside. But you were the one who took that away._

_Well...not all of it._

_But you took away what was left._

For the second time this evening I am left completely speechless. A large part of me simply wants to throttle Tyler for this. Logically I know that I can't, but regardless I would love to grab him by his selfish, juvenile, idiotic shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattle. Of course Hannah was rattled, any teenager would be at finding out that some freak was watching her undress. I knew Tyler was slow but I honestly didn't think he was a complete simpleton. I actually could throttle him. At the very least I'll have him off the yearbook staff for this.

But aside from my overwhelming desire to knock some sense into the perverted brat, something else is niggling from what Hannah just said. I just can't put my finger on what's wrong. For the first time, and I hope the only time, that evening I rewind the tape. I deliberately listen to it again despite the frustration of not being able to turn back time in the same way. Then I hear it.

_My house. My bedroom. They were supposed to be safe for me. Safe from everything outside. But you were the one who took that away._

_Well...not all of it._

There. There it is. There is a district tremble in her voice, a tremour that hadn't been there previously. In fact throughout all of these tapes so far, she's been angry, despondent, upset, even spiteful. But somehow here there is something different. This is new. This is what caught me. Because she's not angry. It would be easy to assume so, but that would be wrong. She's not angry, she's scared. I don't know what she's scared of. I can't read that far between the lines. But I rewind the tape again and again, yet come to the same conclusion. Hannah wasn't just scared. She was terrified.

_Well...not all of it._

_But you took away what was left._

What was left? So much meaning in three single words. Someone had taken the safety from her before. Someone had hurt her. Someone had invaded her sense of privacy. Was this why they'd moved towns? Is this what she meant when she'd mentioned leaving the rumours behind her? Because to me it sounds like someone had already taken her sense of safety, someone had invaded her privacy, invaded her sense of self.

Yet another thing that I failed to see. Yet another question I failed to ask.

Who hurt her? Who brought that fear to her voice? Who made the first cracks in her life?

But Hannah isn't telling me and I have no one else to ask.

Perhaps I will have to make do with throttling Tyler after all.


	6. Picture Perfect

**Chapter 6: Picture Perfect**

_Courtney Crimsen. What a pretty name. And yes, a very pretty girl as well. Pretty hair. Pretty smile. Perfect skin. And you're also very nice. Everyone says so._

I expel the breath that I've been holding without realising. No. Not Courtney. She can't be on these. She can't be involved in this. She can't. It's impossible. She's sweet, smart, charming and diligent. But most of all she's just one of the nicest teenagers I've had the pleasure of teaching. She'll do anything for anyone, help out with work, tutor those who are struggling. I know that teachers shouldn't have favourites but sometimes you can't help it. I'd never admit it to either the pupils or my colleagues, I wouldn't even let it show, but Courtney has to be one of my favourites from this year's candidates. I think she's probably one of everyone's favourites, although they'd be just as loathe to admit it as I am, but even the complete hard liners seem to have a soft spot for her. She just comes across as innocent and simply nice. There's no guile there, you get what you see.

_First off, to everyone listening, I doubt Tyler will let you see the pictures of me giving Courtney a back rub._

I'd been reaching out to grab the bottle of whiskey again and am so glad I hadn't reached it. Without a doubt, if I'd have had it in my hands at that moment it would have fallen to the floor. That would involve having to find another bottle. As it is, I nearly jolted out of my seat, gasping for air. Courtney Crimsen? All around perfect girl? Was the one in the previous tape? Courtney Crimsen was the one with a fascination to the idea of having a Peeping Tom? Who thought it was 'sexy'?

This is the same girl who flutters her eyelashes innocently at everyone she comes across? Who comes across as butter wouldn't melt in her mouth? I close my eyes in sheer mortification. Hannah had given a brief pause to let that particular information sink in, but her voice resumes her tale. Dragging another girl's reputation through the mud.

_Posed. What an interesting word to sum up Courtney's tale. Because when you're posed you know someone's watching. You put on your very best smile. You let your sweetest personality shine. And in high school, people are always watching, so there's always a reason to pose._

_I don't think you do it intentionally, Courtney. And that's why I put you on these tapes. To let you know that what you do affects others. More specifically, it affected me._

The poor girl must have been absolutely mortified when she heard these tapes. She would never have meant any harm. She wouldn't. It's not in her nature. Whatever possessed Hannah to put her on here? But she has. And the repercussions of this will reverberate for a long, long time as every single person on these tapes hears the dead girls voice echoing in their minds long after the tapes have finished. I know I won't get her words out of mine for the longest possible time.

Justin was, well, simply a teenager acting out. Alex could never have imagined what effect that one list could have had on a girls life. Jessica acted out of hurt, out of betrayal. She believed the rumours over what Hannah told her. But it wasn't out of malice or spite. And now Courtney. All of them teenagers with their entire lives in front of them. All of them being tied up in this intricate web which Hannah is building from the other side of death. But of all of them, Courtney is the one who this will hurt the most. This will kill her.

_It's hard to be disappointed when what you expected turns out to be true._

I'm still trying to reconcile the girl I am hearing about with the Courtney Crimsen I teach. The girl on this tape is just not the girl I know. But even Hannah admits that she doesn't believe it's deliberate, even Hannah has given her admiration that Courtney chose to be nice when she could have taken the 'bitch route' and still had all the friends she wanted. The Courtney I've taught every year has just been the sweetest girl you could hope to meet, the one able to put a smile on anyones face. But the Courtney portrayed here is a girl of manipulation, a girl who just wants another tick for 'Nicest girl' in the final Yearbook.

But perhaps more than that, the Courtney portrayed here is just another girl willing to spread rumours for the sake of her own reputation. My heart goes out for Hannah, for a life lost when she still had so much more to give. A life lost because of so much pettiness, so many people letting her down again and again and again.

And if I'm right, which I pray that I'm not, then I'm the final cog in this circle. I'm the final spoke. I'm the one who had everything that was left in my hands. And I failed her.

_And after I dropped him off, I took the longest possible route home...I explored alleys and hidden roads I never knew existed. I discovered neighborhoods entirely new to me. And finally. . . I discovered I was sick of this town and everything in it._

The fifth side of tape grinds to an end as once again I sit, completely still, simply cupping my head in my hands. I don't know whether I have any tears left to cry. I don't know if I have anything left to give.

I know one thing. That despite all of the reassurances, the kindnesses and the prayers? For the first time since I moved to this town I feel the same way. I'm sick of it.

I reach out for the whiskey automatically.

I'm just sick and tired of the whole damn thing.


	7. The day Before became After

**Chapter 7: The day Before became After**

As I sat there staring blankly at the near obsolete but blessedly silent machine in front of me, I couldn't help my mind taking me back to that day, that classroom, those memories. I don't want to remember but I'm too drained, too tired and too emotional to do anything to stop the images flooding through my brain. I can see with perfect clarity the moment where I walked through the halls and first knew something was wrong. I'd been dissecting my meeting with Hannah all of the preceding evening and was left with a deep sense of unease about it as I was. I knew I had to speak to her again, there was too much of what she'd said that rang alarm bells in my head. And then there was the memory of Mrs Bradley concerned that someone in her class might be thinking of suicide and she didn't know how to find out who it was.

_This was no spur of the moment decision. Do not take me for granted. Again._

All of these thoughts had been swirling through my head and I'd spent a restless night tossing and turning without a great deal of sleep. I was determined to speak to Hannah after home group, I'd find out if my fears were valid and if they were I'd do…something. But as I was walking through the corridors I was certain that I kept hearing her name whispered. Despite telling myself that I was simply exaggerating things and it was only because of my concern, I couldn't shake the fear and the tightness in my chest. My pace became quicker as I aimed for the homeroom, desperately hoping to see the blonde hair that she kept trying to push behind her ear. My heartbeat was pressing against my chest and I found myself struggling to breathe against my closed throat long before I reached the room.

_Well, what did you want to hear? Because I've heard so many stories that I don't know which is the most popular. But I do know which is the least popular. The truth. Now the truth is the one that you won't forget._

Even without the tapes playing her voice still resounds in my head. She was right. Listening to these tapes is perhaps the hardest thing I have ever had to do. With one single exception. That of walking into that classroom, desperately scanning those heads for that one head in a sea of teenage heads. Desperately trying to find that nervous hand movement moving to her hair that I had become so used to throughout all of my lessons. Looking for Hannah Baker. Then that sinking sensation in my stomach and that roiling sensation that has become so usual to me now as my worst fears began to take shape and unfold before me.

_Why didn't you leave me alone? My house. My bedroom. They were supposed be safe for me. Safe from everything outside. But you were the one who took that away._

I remember walking silently into that classroom, the way my footsteps seemed to echo off the floor, the way my hands had clenched tightly at my side in a desperate attempt to regain the last shreds of control. I remember standing at the front of that sea of teenage faces, how they seemed to waver in front of me as I couldn't see the one face I needed to see. Because Hannah wasn't there. I remember asking if anyone knew where Hannah was and why I kept hearing her name whispered in the corridor. If asking is the right word. I already knew, and the voice that came out sounded nothing like my own. The voice that emerged cracked and wobbled like broken glass and I knew the class could hear it. They could see the fear in my face and I could see it reflected back in theirs.

_Why would a dead girl lie? Because she can't stand up. Go ahead. Laugh._

I was trembling as I waited for the answer, leaning my entire weight against my desk simply so I didn't fall over. My eyes scanned the class as I prayed for one girl to walk in through the door, prayed to any God, every God I could think of. Until there was a whispered response from the front of the class. I can remember it word for word as if it were yesterday. Her exact words: "Someone saw an ambulance leaving her house, Sir." And as she spoke her eyes never left mine as if she was beseeching me to tell her that everything was fine. Me, of all people. Me. The man who had let a girl die because he didn't walk after her. She had faith in me. She trusted me. Just like Hannah did.

_Translation: Your ass is my play-toy. You might think you have final say over what happens to your ass, but you don't. Not as long as "I'm only playing."_

And I couldn't cope. It's as simple as that. I couldn't cope. I couldn't cope with those silent stares from the faces in front of me, the desperate hope in them. I couldn't cope with the tears that were welling up in my eyes and the knowledge that I had completely failed you. So I walked. I simply walked silently out of class as the tears fell from my eyes. I walked blindly into a hallway of students, not caring who I jostled or who saw me. I just walked. I stumbled. At some point someone, I don't remember who, caught my arm, asking me something. I don't know whether it was to ask me if I was ok or to ask for directions if I'm honest. I just kept going. I had no idea where I was going and couldn't see past the tears filling my eyes let alone speak past the lump in my throat. I could barely breathe.

_No return engagements. No encore. And this time, absolutely no requests._

I remember where I stopped though. Because I didn't stop. I more or less fell. Someone else caught me and I was suddenly on the steps outside. There were people shouting around me but I couldn't understand anything past the roar in my eyes and the thudding of my heart. Everything was a blur. There was a hand on my shoulder but I was shaking so hard it nearly fell straight off. There were reassuring murmurs from, I found out afterwards, the head teacher. An arm, helping me to my feet. A shoulder to lean on. A shoulder I didn't deserve.

I tried to tell him then. But my voice wouldn't work. I killed a girl. I wasn't in shock. I wasn't just blaming myself.

I felt as if my heart had been ripped in two.

Just as I feel now as I reach out to hit play yet another time.


	8. RESPECT

**Chapter 8: R.E.S.P.E.C.T**

_Like driving along a bumpy road and losing control of the steering wheel, tossing you – just a tad – off the road. The wheels kick up some dirt, but you're still able to pull it back. Yet no matter how tightly you grip the wheel, no matter how hard you try to drive straight, something keeps jerking you to the side. You have so little control over anything anymore. And at some point, the struggle becomes too much – too tiring – and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy… or whatever… to happen._

My heart clenches. I'm listening to someone give up. I'm listening to the breaking of a teenage girl. Whatever comes next, whatever else happens, I am listening to the last words of a girl so lost in hopelessness and desperation that she could see no other way out. And this is where she seriously starts thinking about it. This is where she really starts breaking. But why? She started this tape with the One Dollar Valentines, the cheerleaders fundraiser. A stupid, immature dating style thing; fill in a debatable questionnaire and then pay a dollar for up to five names who 'match' you. It's a joke. Most of the kids fill it in for a lark. In fact, I can't remember who it was but I distinctly remember one of the lads joking that they'd filled it in as Haulden Caulfield of all people. And then was surprised when every single girl who'd picked up his name called him. Seriously? No big surprises there. It's rather cynical of me, but there aren't that many kids filling that particular depressed loners description in the school. If that's what you're looking for then your options are pretty limited. Of course they all rang him.

But then again, I've wandered of topic and it's all hearsay. This is light-hearted remembrance, a pleasant diversion from the matter at hand. It has nothing to do with the death of one of my own and I'm ashamed that my mind was allowed to stray so easily onto easier things to think about. That I was so easily distracted from what is unfolding in front of me, the tragedy I did nothing to avert despite having the chance.

_Marcus, as you know, is one of the biggest goof-off's at school. Not a slacker goof-off, but a good goof-off._

I have to admit that's a fairly apt description of our in-house lovable rogue. Trouble maker even from a very young age, always ready with a witty comment or one-liner, always trying to make people laugh. Not much has changed in all honesty, although his sense of timing has improved over the years. Some of the teachers hate him for the sheer disruption he is so known to cause when he comes to the conclusion that a class is becoming dull, others will grudgingly admit that he is actually funny. It just happens to be at the expense of them most of time. And not always welcome.

As Hannah's voice continues in its inescapable fashion though I have a feeling that my view of him is about to change, and not for the better. I can almost feel the words pummelling me physically as I remember her before she cut her hair. I remember her smile and the nervous way she answered questions, constantly flicking her hand up to her hair in perpetual movement. But I don't need to remember her voice. It's right in front of me, coming out of an ancient machine. I can't escape it any more than I can out run my guilt or wash my hands clean of the blood that taints them.

_And that's when his hand touched me knee. That's when I knew._

I've stopped breathing. I know where this is going. Hannah's 'reputation' has preceded her once again. There is only one way for this to go.

_Your arm was behind my back, pulling me close. And your other hand was touching my leg. My upper thigh._

My fists have clenched and I have to visibly stop myself from shaking. Not that it's working very well. I had to put the whiskey down before it spilled over the rim of the glass.

_Below the table, my fingers were fighting to pry your fingers off. To loosen your grip. To push you away. And I didn't want to yell – it wasn't to that level yet – but my eyes were begging for help._

I don't know whether I want to scream or vomit. Why didn't anyone help? Was everyone truly that blind? I want to punch something, someone, anyone. Me. Mr Nice Guy. Never thrown a punch in my life. I'd give anything to be able to do so now.

_Maybe you knew your time was short because your hand immediately slid up from my thigh. All the way up._

God damit. I don't care if he's just an ignorant kid. I want to hit him so hard that he actually gains brain cells. I want to knock his and Tyler's heads together and shake them hard enough to displace teeth. She said no. She said stop. Are all of our _R.E.S.P.E.C.T _lessons completely worthless? Does nothing I say enter any of these kids brains? Is anything I say worthwhile? For Christ's Sake. She Said Stop. It's not funny. It's not a joke. She said stop.

_So I rammed both of my hands into your side, throwing you to the floor._

She shouldn't have had to do that. I thought I'd taught my boys better. I thought I'd taught them to respect what isn't theirs to take, what can only be given. I've had too many girls walking into my office, eyes down, afraid I'll judge them for something they had no choice in or control over. One would have been too many. There's been more than one. And in each and every face walking that door I've seen the same thing; I've seen the guilt, the hurt, the confusion, helplessness and the self-loathing. And in each girl I've seen the innocence of my own daughter, a daughter I've barely known. I've seen that innocence shattered and crushed as everything they thought about the world is up-turned leaving them in a new world of broken trust, pain and fear.

But I'm not their father, so what can I say when there is nothing to say? What can a guidance counsellor say when something is so far past any kind of guidance? What they want is someone to reassure them that everything is ok, that the pain will go, that everything will become right again. What they want is someone to take that burden from their shoulders and carry it far away from them. What they want is a way to rewind time and be happy again, to not see shadows behind every corner or fear the look in every boys eyes. And I can't give them that. I can't even give answers.

_And I'll tell you what I was thinking then. Because now, it applies even more._

I don't want to know. I don't want to know anymore.

_For the longest time, from almost day one at this school, it seemed that I was the only one who cared about me._

My head sunk back into my arms; I don't think I could have supported it even if I'd have wanted to.

_Put all of your heart into getting that first kiss…only to have it thrown back in your face._

_Have the only two people you truly trust turn against you._

_Have one of them use you to get back at the other, and then be accused of betrayal._

I didn't think I had any tears left to cry. I was wrong. Once again they are falling silently down my cheeks. I get it. The Snowball Effect. And I can see where this is heading. I can hear both the anger and the desperation. The desolation. The hopelessness.

_Let someone take away any sense of privacy or security you might still possess. Then have someone use that insecurity to satisfy their own twisted curiosity._

The tears haven't stopped. I don't know if they ever will.

_Then come to realise that you're making mountains out of molehills. Realise how petty you've become. Sure, it may feel you can't get a grip in this town. It may seem that every time someone offers you a hand up, they just let you go and you slide further down. But you must stop being so pessimistic Hannah and learn to trust those around you._

_So I do. One more time._

She did again. She trusted me. She tried to talk to me. She came to me for help. And I failed her as well. The silent tears have turned into sobs that wrack my entire body. So many of us turned our backs on this one girl. So many of us simply let her slide into hell. And I turned my back on her. I let one of my own walk away, knowing something was wrong. I didn't go after her.

_The next day, Marcus, I decided something. I decided to find out how people at school might react if one of the students never came back._

This is it. This is the moment when one of my own really thought about dying. This is the moment where she truly started to think that perhaps dying would be easier than living. Here is when she really considered giving in, giving up. This is when I should have noticed. This is when I should have asked. And yet again, I failed. I was right to hand in my resignation. It should have been accepted.

_Will I ever get control of my life? Will I always be shoved back and pushed around by those I trust? Will my life ever go where I want it to?_

The tape has long since come to a close but Hannah's words reverberate around my head, echoing their message again and again and again. I could have helped her. I should have helped her. The whiskey I'd picked up lies in a pool across the floor. But I don't care.

Nothing matters anymore.

Nothing except that relentless voice. The voice dragging me through my guilt. The voice of a girl that I failed. The voice of the dead. I hate her for making me feel this way.

I know it sounds awful.

But at this moment?

I hate her as much as I hate Marcus.

I hate her as much as I hate myself.


	9. So predictable

**Chapter 9: So Predictable**

The minutes pass and I still haven't moved. I'm just sat, staring blankly into space. Just thinking. I'm thinking of all of the times when I could have shown one girl that somebody cared, somebody was looking out for her, that she wasn't on her own. Thinking how much of a waste this is, that a girl died simply because there was no one there willing to offer her a hand up and not let her fall. What a waste that one of mine died, by her own hand, because I wasn't paying enough attention, I didn't offer that hand when she needed it. I'm thinking how unfair this is; how unfair it was on Hannah but more than that. How unfair this is on all of these teenagers who are going to be haunted by that voice, how unfair it is on me. I'm thinking about how much I wish Hannah had given me a second chance. I wouldn't have failed her again.

_Okay, I could go on like this forever, defending Mrs Bradley. But something happened in that class, didn't it? Otherwise, why would you be hearing me talk about it? Next year, after my little incident, I hope Peer Communications continues._

My thoughts immediately turn back that that one afternoon when Mrs. Bradley came to see me in my office hours. She was concerned about a student she said, but she didn't know who. I'd laughed. I thought this had to be the start to some elaborate set-up; there had to be some kind of punch line. But the look on her face soon stopped my laughter. She didn't look like she was joking, if anything it was quite the reverse. She looked concerned, no, it was more than concerned. She looked scared, she looked terrified. So I apologised. I asked her what had happened, what was causing her so much concern.

Now, Mrs. Bradley isn't a member of staff I have a great deal to do with on a day to day basis, but I do know that she's a truly formidable woman. She's not one to scare easily or to baulk at difficult discussions; she couldn't have run Peer Communications for so long if she was. She's the only member of staff I know who insists on a snickers bar being left on her desk whenever one of the kids steps out of line or snickers at another pupil. And they always do. Without fail. But the woman in front of me was not the same woman. The woman in front of me was flustered, she stuttered and seemed completely out of her depth to the point that even I was getting concerned. But eventually she explained that she'd received a note in the class bag which suggested a student was considering suicide and she had no idea who's left it there. She even passed me the note.

I pacified her. I told her we'd keep a look out and make sure nothing happened. I promised her that I'd look into it and I'd deal with it. She trusted me. Like Hannah did. She gave me warning. And I failed to act on it. Oh, I distributed leaflets and felt like I was making a difference. But I wasn't.

Why didn't I act then? Before it was too late.

_As far as I know, no one ever left a mean or sarcastic note in anyone's bag. We had too much respect for Mrs. Bradley to do that._

_So, Zach Dempsey, what's your excuse?_

Zach. The complete opposite of Marcus. So shy it's almost painful to watch. Not a bad looking lad; well-built with that floppy blonde hair the girls seem to fawn over these days. But whereas Marcus actively courts attention, any attention for good or ill, Zach always shies away from anything that even resembles attention whether it's from the opposite sex or not. He's the last person I'd have expected to turn up on these tapes. Then again, I hadn't expected Courtney to be here either. Says how well I know my kids, doesn't it?

But Hannah's moved backwards, away from Peer Communications and back to that day in Rosie's, just after she'd shoved Marcus to the floor in front of the entire café. When no-one had come to help her. But Zach came over.

_Zach was sweet. He went on letting me ignore him until it became almost comical._

So what happened? What did Zach do wrong? What did he do to deserve this? How many murky secrets can one school hold?

_I can tell you this, at that table, the worst thoughts in the world first came into my head. It's there that I first started to consider…to consider… a word that I still cannot say._

You can't say it? She can't say it? Suicide. It's an ugly word, isn't it? Suicide. The killing of one's own self. It's an ugly concept. There's nothing pretty about it. Particularly for one so young. She can take a load of pills, she just can't say the word. Until Hannah died I don't think I'd ever really considered suicide. Either as a concept or as an option. Of course, it had occasionally crossed my mind when things got really rough, but it just flitted, never lodged. Then Hannah died and everything changed. Suddenly suicide wasn't just an abstract concept. However much I can see how much devastation her death caused; the guilt, the pain, the fear…I can also see something else.

I can see the temptation to just curl up in a ball and hibernate, to hide from all those you've betrayed and failed. There is nothing you can do to fix your failure and any amends you try to make just fall to dust in your mouth. When the sense of giving up is just so much stronger than the sense of holding on because what you once held dear has slipped away from you. When the impulse to simply hold your hands up and say I'm through makes more sense than trying to battle on through because there is nothing to hold you here anymore. When everything else falls apart and everything you touch seems to give way you get to the point when perhaps it is actually easier just to quit. Not just for yourself but for everyone else you're hurting by holding on.

_I know you tried coming to my rescue, Zach. But we all know that's not why you're on these tapes. So I've got one question before we continue. When you try rescuing someone and discover they can't be reached, why would you ever throw that back in their face?_

And when someone is already so close to the breaking point, it wouldn't take much to push them that little bit further. I know, that's how I feel now. If Hannah's heart and trust were in the process of collapsing, it feels like my whole world is. Everything I thought I knew, all of these kids who I see day in, day out. All of the things that I have based my work, my life around. It all seems to have crumbled to the ground in front of me, leaving nothing but an empty, gaping hole. A gaping hole where the centre of my being used to be and all that is filling it is the voice of the dead, the voice of blame, the voice of guilt. At least Zach tried. At least he can say that about himself. That's one step better than I managed.

_I will give you credit where it's due Zach. You could have gone back to your friends and said, "Hannah's a freak. Look at her. She's staring into Neverland."_

_Instead you took the teasing._

That must have stung.

_But you must have been on a slow boil, getting more and more angry – taking it more and more personally – the longer you thought about my non-responsiveness. And you chose to get back at me in the most childish of ways._

_You stole my paper bag notes of encouragement._

That? It's so trivial. So inconsequential. Surely that couldn't have triggered this? Not a set of simple notes that mean little if anything? But maybe it's like Hannah said; the Snowball Effect. And having one more person turn against her was just too much.

_Maybe it didn't seem like a big deal to you, Zach._

I know the feeling.

_But now I hope you understand. My world was collapsing. I needed those notes. I needed any hope those notes might have offered._

_And you? You took that hope away. You decided I didn't deserve to have it._

Oh Lord. I understand. I finally understand. I almost hope Zach doesn't. Such a petty, childish action. Such long reaching consequences. When everything else was collapsing all she wanted was something to stabilise her, something to reassure her that everything wasn't dark, that there was some hope. And by taking that hope away Zach helped to destroy her. Because of small-minded, petty vindictiveness Zach took away the only thread Hannah had left. And he wouldn't have even known how much damage he was causing. Until her suicide. And these tapes. She was at the end. She couldn't cope. And he removed the only positive light she had left in her life.

Like so many times this evening I wish I could rewind time. Call her into my office after she cut her hair. Ask her, really truly ask her what was wrong. And listen to the desperation behind her words. Hear the anger, the hurt, the betrayal. Feel the desolation. But that's not possible. Instead I'm left here to listen to her final words, listen to a girl slowly dying because nobody held out a hand. Everybody just let her go.

_And as I stood there in the hallway – alone – trying to understand what had just happened and why, I realised the truth: I wasn't worth an explanation – not even a reaction. Not in your eyes, Zach._

_For the rest of you listening, the note was addressed to Zach by name. Maybe now he sees it as a prologue to these tapes. Because in there, I admitted that I was at a point in my life where I really could have used any encouragement anyone might have left me. Encouragement…that he stole._

My eyes are stinging again. It's heart-breaking in its simplicity. But my heart isn't only breaking for Hannah. It's also breaking for Zach. A good lad, a team player, far too shy for his own good but overall a nice boy. A good kid who gave into his anger, his frustration and his helplessness in a petty and vengeful way but could never have foreseen the consequences to his actions. He wanted to make her hurt in the same way that he'd been embarrassed and rebuffed. He made a mistake. One that turned out to have catastrophic consequences. But it was a childish form of revenge. And it is going to stay with him for the rest of his life now.

But that would be bad enough. Hannah continues by talking about the note that she left in Mrs. Bradley's bag. A note I can remember word for word. A note which is ingrained on my memory. A note which ever since her death I suspected had been left by her, but since the beginning of these tapes I've been certain. A note that read:

**Suicide. It's something I've been thinking about. Not too seriously but I have been thinking about it.**

Mrs. Bradley didn't know who had left it there. But Zach would of. And my pity for him evaporates as quickly as it came. He knew. We didn't. And yes, there were signs that we missed, signs we should have seen. But he knew. How could he not have? All it would have taken was a quiet word to one of us, a gentle nudge in the right direction. But he couldn't even bring himself to do that? He knew exactly which of his fellow classmates was thinking down these lines, hell, Hannah had more or less admitted it outright to him. And he still **chose** to do nothing. Even after we handed out the leaflets and explained how serious this was. Even after we told them all what signs to look out for. He still said nothing. He had a choice. He made his. Then again, in their own way, so did the rest of the class.

_But everything they said – everything – came tinged with annoyance._

_Then one of the girls, her name doesn't matter here, said what everyone was thinking. "It's like whoever write this note just wants attention. If they were serious, they would have told us who they are."_

Is that what Zach thought? Even after everything he'd done, everything he'd seen? Did he just assume she was simply playing for attention and wasn't serious? I've hit pause on the tape whilst I hunt for a second bottle of whiskey as that one's nearly done. I'd long since given up on the glass and have been swigging from the bottle but I'm fuming. I'm livid. Zach decided to play God and the cost was a young girl's life. At sixteen he is more than old enough to understand the consequences of suicide. He may never have seen it first-hand but we made it clear that one of their classmates lives could be on the line. He knew. And he **still** said nothing. He decided her life was worth less than his pride. I don't press play as much as hit it.

_Maybe I wanted someone to point a finger at me and say, "Hannah? Are you thinking of killing yourself? Please don't do that, Hannah. Please?_

_But deep down, the truth was that the only person saying that was me. Deep down, those were my words._

We would have said it. We would have reached out. Either me or Mrs. Bradley would have. Any of us would have. All of us wish we had. If we'd have known. If we'd have put together the pieces. If Zach has only said something. If only.

_Guess what was right up there in the top five?_

_"A sudden change in appearance."_

_I tugged on the ends of my newly cropped hair._

_Huh. Who knew I was so predictable?_

Who knew we could miss such an obvious sign. We all failed you Hannah. All of us. Some more than others perhaps.

But we all failed you.


	10. Moon blanched landscape

**Chapter 10: Moon blanched landscape**

I looked at the clock whilst taking another gulp of whiskey. Four in the morning. Normally I'd be tucked up in bed. That isn't an option tonight. I don't know if it will ever be an option again. I don't think I can sleep with Hannah's voice reverberating through my mind.

_Looking back, I stopped writing poetry in my notebook when I stopped wanting to know myself anymore._

_If you hear a song that makes you cry and you don't want to cry anymore you don't listen to that song anymore._

_But you can't get away from yourself. You can't decide not to see yourself anymore._

I wish you could. Then I wouldn't have to feel the pain, the guilt, the shame. I wouldn't be forcing myself to listen to the voice of a girl I killed. I wouldn't need to get to the end.

_So, here you go Ryan Shaver. The truth will set you free._

The Lost-N-Found. Always an entertaining mix of doodles, photos and other random items which Ryan has found lying around. And I know where this is going. The poem he published. The poem he 'found'. The one we discussed in English class. The one we dissected. The one the other kids mocked. The one I ran a lesson on. She wrote it. She must have. None of us knew it was her, but she wrote it. And then had to listen as we repeatedly read it aloud, as we dissected it and cut it into pieces.

_The third week, we took the biggest chance of all and handed each other our entire notebooks of poems._

_Wow! That took a lot of courage. For me definitely._

And he betrayed you. One more person in a long line of people to betray you. Justin took your reputation, Jessica took your friendship and your trust, Tyler took your safety and security and ensured you never saw the stars from your window again. Courtney used your insecurity in her little popularity contest, Marcus took advantage of you and Zach, well Zach took what was left. But Ryan went one stage further. Ryan took your heart and soul and held it up for public ridicule. You trusted him with your innermost thoughts and he betrayed you. How many of us did that?

_You found it, Ryan. You found the hidden meaning. You found what even I couldn't find in my own poem._

_The poem wasn't about my mum you said. Or a boy. It was about me. I was writing a letter to myself…hidden in a poem._

_You told me that no boy was overlooking me more than I was overlooking myself. At least that's what you thought it meant. And that's why you asked me what it meant. You felt it went deeper than even you could figure out._

I can remember the poem word for word. I read it aloud so many times to different classes. We analysed it. None of us were even close.

_Why did you steal my notebook? Why did you print my poem, the poem that you yourself called 'scary' in the Lost-N-Found? Why did you let other people read it?_

Because he was stupid. Because he didn't think. Because he's a teenager. And he could never have thought that an English teacher would leap on it with such enthusiasm and dissect it in the classroom, allowing the other students to cut it up and try to find the truth below. He could never have foreseen one English teacher deciding that this would make an excellent set of lesson plans and would share the idea with all the other teachers. That the other teachers would leap on it in the same way and it would become part of the curriculum. He could never have thought that one English teacher would decide to openly compare this poem to one written by the dead classics authors whilst the actual author was in the room. The author who was already suicidal.

At the time it made sense. We didn't know who had written it. So just like those dead authors of old we couldn't ask them about its meaning, we had the freedom to analyse it without contradiction and there were no right or wrong answers. That's what I thought. I had no idea how wrong I was.

_Some even wrote parodies of my poem, reading them out to me in the hopes of getting under my skin._

_It was all so stupid and childish…and cruel._

I didn't know that. I never realised. I never saw. Another thing that I missed in a list that is growing far too long.

_School hadn't been a safe haven of mine for a long time. And after your photo escapades Tyler, my home was no longer secure._

_Now, suddenly, even my own thoughts were being offered up for ridicule._

I should have seen it. I should have noticed. Hannah is blaming Ryan, but yet again, for another time this evening, the blame lies squarely on my own two shoulders. Ryan betrayed her. But I was the teacher. It was my class. The buck stops with me. Again.

The poem floats around in my head. In her voice this time. Not mine.

_I meet your eyes_

_you don't even see me_

_You hardly respond_

_when I whisper_

_hello_

_Could be my soul mate_

_two kindred spirits_

_Maybe we're not_

_I guess we'll never_

_know_

_My own mother_

_carried me in you_

_Now you see nothing_

_but what I wear_

_People ask you_

_how I am doing_

_You smile and nod_

_don't let it end_

_there_

_Put me_

_underneath God's sky and_

_know me_

_don't just see me with your eyes_

_Take away_

_this mask of flesh and bone and_

_see me_

_for my soul_

_alone_

I was impressed because most of the teenage poetry I get handed is simply angsty and depressive. Some of its very talented, but it's all the same. This was different. Some of the stuff is based around self-harm, a lot is based around suicide. Dark angels and blood stained tears are frequent metaphors. Probably the most disturbing is the stuff that's based around anorexia. In fact one of the few teenage poems I have lodged in my mind is one that was written about anorexia. It had been handed in for marking and I couldn't mark it. It wasn't technically perfect, but the cry for help was so clear, the distress so obviously resounded from the page in front of me. And I couldn't mark it. I couldn't treat it like I'd treated all the others:

It's all in the name of perfection

That I do this to myself.

I'm so afraid of rejection

That I reject myself.

My reflection, my tormentor

It laughs back at me.

It shows me who I really am

Not who I want to be.

I didn't want it as a tormentor

I wanted it as a friend,

I thought I knew how to get this,

My weight had to descend.

So, in the name of perfection

So, in the name of self-worth,

I began my own destruction

And mistook it for re-birth.

How can you mark something like that? And it's why Hannah's poem impressed me so much. It was so much more fluid and could have so many potential meanings without being stereotypically 'teenage' in its make-up. It was gentle and powerful at the same time, somehow reminding me of a breath of wind that has the potential to become a tornado. In a way I suppose that's exactly what it did become. It was like looking behind the layers of protection and barriers that have been constructed and being able to see the soul beyond them.

But thinking about that has made me remember another poem that was left in my pigeon hole. I never did figure out who had written it. Then Hannah died and I forgot to look anymore. It was darker than the one that I used in the lessons, but no less powerful. But instead of being a looking glass to a fragile and breaking soul, the only way I can describe it is being given a single glance of the fear, pain and broken glass that litters a soul and not being able to look anymore. It had none of the gentle beauty, instead was frightening in its intensity and power. But something about Hannah's poem has brought it out from the murky recesses of my memory. Perhaps the similarities in theme. The feeling that nobody is willing to really look and see what is underneath the perfection of the surface.

I shatter  
Dissolve within myself.  
Swirl like flotsam in the ebb of childhood dreams  
of what I hope are nightmares  
and flung free  
from thoughts too bad to last.  
Caught within the swell of seething summer nights  
beside a bloodless, dark massed sea  
I cannot forget. I cannot fight  
my memories.  
I trip, and cut myself on jagged fragments of my past.  
I writhe in the grip of half remembered pain.  
And only in not being find relief  
And only in dying can atone.  
No one can understand  
You cannot know  
How much you hurt me with your disbelief,  
Or how thoughts of self-destruction scheme  
Whether I am with you or alone.  
No matter how untouched and bright they seem  
I am forever tarnished by their sin.  
I cannot show  
How desperate I feel, and how afraid.  
You do not notice how I note each blade  
You do not see me eye the passing cars  
You do not see the long dug trenches or the scars  
Where ignorant armies grind  
In slow and graceless wars  
Across the moon blanched landscape of my mind.

Perhaps the fact that I might have more than one student who is really struggling.

Perhaps the fact that this time I might be able to make a difference.


	11. Honey, your name does not belong

**Chapter 11: Honey, your name does not belong**

This time I don't wait before putting the next tape into the cassette player. My hands move automatically, knowing what needs to be done. The routine, the nostalgia of a time long since passed is oddly soothing. My hands at least have gone back to a happier time. The rest of me simply needs to finish what I started, needs to hear Hannah out. Gripping the whiskey bottle tightly I press play once more.

_Romeo, of Romeo. Wherefore art thou, Romeo?_

_Good question, Juliet. And I wish I knew the answer._

_To be totally honest, there was never a point where I said to myself, Clay Jensen…he's the on_e.

My heart clenches once more and my chest has become so tight that I can't breathe. Not another one. Please Hannah, don't drag another boys name through the mud. Clay's name, his reputation is the only thing he has got. You won't hear anyone say a bad word against him. Not because he tries to be sweet or one of the popular kids, or even because he deliberately courts everyone around him in the same way Courtney seems to. No. You won't hear a bad word about him because he genuinely listens to others and he thinks before he speaks. A rare trait in a teenager. He doesn't act without thinking, doesn't lose his temper, doesn't act out of malice. He stays out of the limelight, doesn't make a scene, keeps his head down. Please Hannah, please don't force his head above the parapet. Please don't destroy him.

_Clay, honey, your name does not belong on this list._

The breath I'd been holding without even realising it is expelled in one violent gasp leaving me winded. He's ok. She doesn't want to destroy him.

_You don't know what went on in the rest of my life. At home. Even at school. You don't know what goes on in anyone's life but your own. And when you mess with one part of a person's life, you're not messing with just that part. Unfortunately you can't be that precise and selective. When you mess with one part of a person's life you are messing with their entire life._

Again. The Snowball Effect. Everything affects everything else. One action propels into another, into another, into another. And this party that Hannah only went to because Clay was going? It obviously snowballs more than most. This is where the snowball picks up speed.

But, much like when she spoke of the beginnings of her friendship with Jessica, there's a warmth to her voice when she speaks of Clay. As she relates them talking about everything and nothing her voice has softened. The edge that has been there throughout her tale, that perpetual edge, has gone leaving a teenage girl speaking gently from the heart of friendship and I guess love. Instead of the gradual courtship and dancing that most of us do that can last for months or even years, everything for Hannah focusses on this one whirlwind night. For a moment I can forget who it is speaking through these tapes, for a moment, one blissful moment all that can be seen is bright flush of youth in love. The fervour, the ardour, the gracefulness that somehow, despite all of their insecurities and inexperience, only the young can truly pull off. The gentle touch, the unquestioning trust, the belief in a world made only for them, the moments where nothing else exists. Only each other.

But it doesn't last. The bloom of youth soon fades, the innocence corrupts and they become just as bitter, cynical and broken as the rest of us. They grow up. If we give them the chance. In the same way Hannah's voice changes. And that sudden shift in tone is just as heart-breaking as the loss of a first love. It is a jolt back to the solid and unforgiving world of reality.

_I was breaking. If only I'd talked to you sooner. We could have been…we could've…I don't know. But things were gone too far by then. My mind was set. Not on ending my life. Not yet. It was set on floating through school. On never being close to anyone. That was my plan. I'd graduate then I'd leave._

_But then I went to a party. I went to a party to meet you._

And something happened. It must have. The next couple of tapes revolve around it. She said so.

_Why did I do that? To make myself suffer? Because that's what I was doing – hating myself for waiting so long. Hating myself because it wasn't fair on you._

No. You went because somewhere deep inside you knew you were breaking and you wanted someone to save you. You wanted someone to pick up the shattered fragments and make you whole again. You wanted someone to put your heart and soul back together. You wanted someone to prove to you that you were worth it. You needed someone to look beyond your reputation, too peel back the surface, to see you and to love you are who you are. Who you were. You needed someone to hold out a hand and catch you.

But that part could only carry you so far.

_You started to talk but I made you stop. I asked you to leave. You started to talk again and I screamed. I screamed into the pillow._

_And then you stopped talking. You heard me._

_The bed lifted on your side as you got up to leave the room. But it took you forever to realise I was serious._

He heard you. He listened. He walked away. He's going to be torturing himself. He did everything he could. When she told him to stop, he stopped. When she told him to leave, he left. And he must be killing himself for it. He didn't want to leave. You pushed him away. You pushed him away when had he known he'd have moved heaven and earth to help you, to save you from yourself.

_I reached Clay, the reason I went to the party. I circled his name and drew a line…back. Back to a previous name._

_In fact Clay, soon after you left and shut the door…that person reopened it._

_But that person's already received the tapes. So Clay, just skip him when you pass them on._

Justin. It's got to be Justin. She said his name would reappear. And here it is.

_And yes, Clay? I'm sorry too._


	12. A Child's Faith

***TRIGGER WARNING - THIS CHAPTER REFERS TO RAPE AND COULD BE EMOTIONALLY TRIGGERING***

**Chapter 12: A Child's Faith**

It's Justin. That much I know. She hasn't said his name yet but I know. She told us that he would reappear and here he is. What happened at that party? Alcohol flowing freely and hormones running riot. The possibilities are endless. And none of them good. The more I think the worse lines my mind takes me down, the only thing to do is once again hit play and hear it from the horse's mouth.

_Soon after Clay left, the couple from the couch walked into the bedroom. Actually, stumbled is more accurate. Remember them? I thought she was acting drunk, bumping into me so we'd get up and leave. Unfortunately it wasn't an act._

This isn't going anywhere good. I can't believe Justin would rape a girl. But it's been shown that there's a lot in this school that I don't know. Even the kids I thought I knew it's turned out that I had no idea. I don't want to find out that Justin is a rapist. I don't know what I'd do. I don't know how to deal with it. I'd have to do something. I just don't know what. I don't know where to start.

_Again, nice guy that he was, he didn't take advantage of the situation. He wanted to. He tried for the longest time to get a reaction out of her. "Are you still awake? Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? Are you going to puke?"_

_It dawned on him – finally – that she wasn't in a romantic mood and probably wouldn't be for a while. So he tucked her in and said he'd check on her in a bit. Then he left."_

So it's not anything Justin did. But as Hannah continues it becomes obvious that something happened in that room. And Justin was very much involved.

_Deny it! Go on, deny that I was ever in that room. Deny that I know what you did. Or not what you did, but what you didn't do. What you allowed to happen. Rationalise why this isn't the tape you're making a return appearance on._

Dear God. What happened? What did Justin allow to happen? From the way Hannah is teasing this story out, I can only imagine the worst. And that's clearly what she intends. Everything here is told for a reason. Hannah always has a reason. Not for the first time during this long, long evening I wish that this story could have a happy ending. But I know the ending already. I'm part of that ending. What I don't know is how this segment of the story ends.

But I have guesses. I just hope they're wrong. I desperately hope they're wrong. I'd pray if I had any faith that there was anyone listening. Any faith I had has long since disappeared. Unfortunately any hope I had is heading in the same direction.

_The bedroom door opened again. But again, you pulled it shut. And you tried to make a joke out of it. "Trust me," you said, "she won't move. She'll just lie there."_

_And what was his response? What was it? What was his reasoning for you to step aside and let him in the room. Do you remember? Because I do._

Lord. What did Justin let happen? Who did he let in that room?

_He told you he was working the night shift and had to leave in a few minutes. A few minutes, that's all he needed with her. So just relax and step aside._

Just relax. I've heard that before. Every nerve in my body is thrumming with tension, every sense is heightened. Just relax. That was the what whoever grabbed Hannah's wrist and backside said. Just relax. I'm only playing. Is that what he thinks he's doing? Just 'playing'? Is that what Justin thinks?

_And that's all it took for you to let him open the door._

Holy mother of God. Despite everything the words from Sunday School come back to me automatically and I clutch at the small comfort they offer. Even without faith there's something reassuring about the words that I chant as if I were that small boy again. That small boy rocking on the bed, praying that the pain would stop and when that failed chanting the words as if they alone could block out the screams, block out the memories and mend the broken child.

Holy Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with you. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

I chant them as my voice rises and falls, cracks and breaks. I chant them as the tears once more start falling down my face in an endless procession. Even over thirty years later they still have the power to calm my beating heart even if they don't have the power to fix it.

_With the bass thumping, no one heard him walking across the room. Walking across the room. Getting on the bed. The bedsprings screaming under his weight. No one heard a thing._

_And I could have stopped it. It I could have talked. If I could have seen. If I could have thought about anything, I would have opened those doors and stopped it._

_But I didn't. And it doesn't really matter what my excuse was. That my mind was in meltdown is no excuse. I have no excuse. I could have stopped it – end of story._

Hail Mary, full of grace. Hail Mary, full of grace. Hail Mary, full of grace.

She witnessed a rape. She heard it. She was there. Justin let him come in knowing full well what he was going to do and she watched it happen. She watched as a girl had her dignity stripped, her control taken and her belief in her own safety and security shattered. He let a girl be forced without her consent to have the most intimate parts of her body brutalised. The parts of her body that are hers and hers alone, that should be given as an act of love and trust, to be used against her in an act of power and brutality. They let a girl get raped.

Hail Mary, mother of God. Hail Mary, mother of God. Hail Mary, mother of God.

The chant is my only refuge against the waves of hatred, of hopelessness and shame that are threatening to overwhelm me. The chant is my only safety, my only rock within the tears that stream down my face. Tears for a girl whose innocence, safety and trust have been shattered. Tears for an unknown girl too ashamed to speak out, too afraid to trust, too devastated to hope. Tears for a girl who went to her grave knowing that she helped to ruin another girl's life. That she could have stopped it.

_We'd come a long way, Justin. From the first time I watched you slip on Kat's lawn. To my first kiss at the bottom of the slide. To now._

_First, you started a chain of events that ruined my life. Now, you were working on hers._

I wanted to throw up. But I don't dare miss a word of the tale that continues to unfold.

_Eventually, you turned my way. The colour in your face…gone. Your expression…blank. And your eyes looked so exhausted._

_Or was it pain I saw there?_

He knows what he's done. He knows what he let happen. He knows that this isn't a game. It's not a game to the girl he left alone. The girl who will forever blame herself because she was too drunk to fight, too drunk to scream, too drunk to do anything but lie there. Too drunk to say no. Too weak to have any chance of fighting back. It's not a game to the girl left feeling complicit in the crime against her, the crime she had no power over. It's not a game when she's too ashamed to talk, too afraid that no one will believe her or that everyone will judge her.

Hail Mary, mother of God. Hail Mary, full of grace. Hail Mary, mother of God.

Silent. Ashamed. Alone. So, so alone. How can you tell anyone when you know they'd never look at you in the same way again. The physical pain will have long since gone for her. But I can remember the look in my sister's eyes. The most painful effects are not physical. That pain goes away. The bruises heal, the body mends. But the mind is shattered. I can remember my sister's eyes as if it were yesterday.

The guilt, the shame, the violation. The fear, the panic. The knowledge that she was soiled, damaged, worthless. The isolation, the silent cries for help, the loneliness. Being left a victim, terrified, helpless and vulnerable. Alive but a shadow in your own body. I can remember it like yesterday. I felt so helpless as she cut her hair, cut her body, did everything to make herself as undesirable as possible. And I could do nothing. I didn't have the size, the years or the experience. I did nothing. I watched her being destroyed by the man she should trust with her life. And I did nothing.

I became a teacher to help. To spot the signs before it was too late.

Holy Mary, mother of God.

I failed.

Holy Mary, forgive me my sins. I beg of you.

_Justin, baby. I'm not blaming you entirely. We're in this together. We both could have stopped it. Either one of us. We could have saved her. And I'm admitting this to you. To all of you. That girl had two chances. And both of us let her down._

Who is she? I understand why she hasn't come to me. It doesn't make it any easier but I understand. As far as she's concerned she has no proof and so is completely alone. She has no way of showing that she was violated. She's isolating herself and dragging herself further into the depths of hell. She's afraid of her own shadow and doesn't want to leave the house alone. But she is alone. So very, very alone.

_It must be denial. It has to be. Sure, he's always had a temper. Sure, he goes through girls like used underwear. But he's always been a good friend to you. And the more you hang out with him, the more he seems like the same old guy from before, right? And if he acts like the same guy then he couldn't possibly have done anything wrong. Which means that you didn't do anything wrong either._

Hail Mary, mother of God. Forgive my sins. And the sins I am about to commit.

_Great! That's great news, Justin. Because if he didn't do anything wrong, and you didn't do anything wrong, then I didn't do anything you have no idea how much I wish I didn't run that girls life._

But you did. Both of you. You condemned a girl to having no way of proving that someone took everything she had from her. You condemned a girl to the memories that come at night and the nightmares that leave you screaming. Both of you condemned a girl to the memories that won't die, that won't leave.

_But I did._

Hail Mary, mother of God.

You condemned her to the battle between your dignity and insanity as you desperately search each day for reasons not to die, but at the same time in the face of life you are completely lost.

_No, you're right. You didn't rape her. And I didn't rape her. He did. But you…and I…we let it happen._

_It's our fault._

I need to find out who. Who raped her and more importantly, who she is. She can't do this alone. She can't deal with this alone.

But once again Hannah isn't telling me. But Justin will. I'll make sure of that.

No matter what it takes.


	13. A simple Stop sign

**Chapter 13: A Simple Stop Sign**

When I'd put that last tape in, I'd been determined to get to the end of these tapes as quickly as possible now. I needed to get to the end, needed to finish what I'd started. Now, I'm not so sure. From petty insecurities, Hannah has raised the bar and I don't think it can get any worse. Except, I suspect Hannah has managed. The order here is significant. From a rumour that sparked everything else off, to inappropriate behaviour to out and out rape. With each tape the situation gets worse. But what can be worse than what I've just heard? How can she possibly go further than she has?

_Jenny, you didn't say a thing. You didn't ask me any questions. And I was so grateful. Maybe you've had things happen, or seen things happen in parties that just couldn't discuss. Not right away, at least. Which is sort of fitting, because I haven't discussed any of this until now. _

_Well… no. I tried. I tried once, but he didn't want to hear it._

That's another nod to me. She came to me. She tried to talk to me. And I didn't listen. I didn't want to hear what was being said. I didn't want to look. I didn't pay attention. If I had, perhaps I'd have saved Hannah and allowed one girl to feel slightly less isolated in a world that's been tipped upside down. I could have done so much more than I did.

_And then…it hit. There's nothing like an accident to bring the world crashing back._

An accident? There was an accident that night. But Jenny had nothing to do with it… It was some old guy and one of the seniors colliding at a junction. The kid died. Two deaths in an astronomically short period of time. Nearly brought the school to a complete stand still. The tragic loss of two lives within weeks of each other was nearly enough to completely destroy the school.

_The front wheel on my side slammed into and jumped the curb. A wooden post smacked into your front bumper and snapped back like a toothpick._

Where is this going?

_A Stop sign fell backward in front of your headlights. _

Hellfire. I think I know where this is going. That other accident. It was caused because a Stop sign had been knocked over. Nobody knew who was responsible.

_You shut your eyes and said, "Hannah, I'm not drunk."_

Which means she was. If I'm right then a kid died because of this. Because she was drunk.

_Well, I didn't accuse you of being drunk, Jenny. But I was wondering why the hell you couldn't keep your car on the road._

Because she'd been drinking. Which is also why she just wanted to get back in the car. Why she wouldn't hand her keys over.

_"Hannah, don't worry," you said. Then you laughed. Nobody obeys Stop signs anyway. They just roll on through. So now, because there isn't one there, it's legal. See? People will thank me."_

No. I don't see your logic. The Stop sign is there for a reason; to stop the kind of tragic accident that happened only hours after you knocked it down. Are all of my students half-witted idiots?

_In fact, you got away with much more than knocking down a sign, Jenny._

_And once again, I could have stopped it…somehow._

Now that isn't quite fair. She tried. She tried to get Jenny to get out of the car. She tried to phone the police, but Jenny wouldn't let her. She was more concerned with getting into trouble and so she bolted. But Hannah tried. She truly, honestly tried.

_Actually, that's the only thing that would have mattered. Because you found your way home in one piece, Jenny. But that wasn't the problem. The sign was knocked down, and that was the problem._

I never noticed any damage to Jenny's car; the police actually asked us to look for signs of damage. Someone had clearly driven into the sign but none of us knew who it was. And Jenny clearly had that bumper in record speed time. And even though she wasn't responsible for the accident, even though she did report the sign to the police Hannah felt guilty. She should have done something sooner, she should have taken Jenny's phone, she should have taken the car keys. But in reality, there was little she could do. Jenny was determined.

_I had… I have… no idea what you think of me._

I don't know what I think of you. The emotions are too complex and mixed for me to make them out. There's pity, sadness, anger, sympathy and guilt. There's the knowledge that you had so much potential which you threw away, leaving us to try to figure out what to do next. There's the reality of the fact that despite I can hear your words coming out of the old machine, you are gone and you are never coming back. Throughout these tapes you've been angry, spiteful, desperate, helpless and hopeless. In my classes you were bright, smart and had the eye of every boy in the room. But the girl from my classes isn't the girl here. Or it is. The girl here is the girl I should have seen in my classes. The girl I betrayed.

The decision you made is one of the most selfish acts that any human being can commit; you took your own life leaving your friends and family wondering what they had done to deserve it, what they had done to cause it. And you went one step further. You created these tapes so that twelve people would here exactly what you thought they had done, eleven teenagers had to shoulder the burden of guilt and of shame. Eleven of my own, no matter what they have done. But I can see why you took the pills. You couldn't cope anymore. You couldn't cope with the rumours, the destruction and the guilt. You couldn't see any way to make your life less hopeless. You couldn't gain control of it. So you took control over the only thing you could. And you made the final choice.

I hate you. I hate myself. I wish I could do anything to turn back time and change the past. I sympathise with you. It's all a complete mess.

_At school the following day, when everyone replayed the events of what happened the previous night, that's when I found out who had called. And it wasn't to report a fallen sign._

No. It was to report a serious collision that led to the death of an innocent boy.

All due to one Stop sign. A Stop sign that shouldn't have been knocked over. A Stop sign that should have been reported. How many lives have been ruined in this little tale? If not from the guilt then from the consequences that have reverberated off single actions.

_I walked for hours, imagining the mist growing thick and swallowing me whole. The thought of disappearing like that – so simply – made me so happy._

A girl raped. A boy dead. A teenager dead by her own hand. How much more devastation can the last two tapes hold?

She didn't disappear into the mist. But she did disappear. Forever.


	14. Just relax

**Chapter 14: Just relax**

I turn the tape over numbly. I feel numb. Like nothing is real. Nothing can ever be real again.

_Just two more to go. Don't give up on me now. _

_I'm sorry, I guess that's an odd thing to say. Because isn't that what I'm doing? Giving up?_

_Yes. As a matter of fact, I am. And that, more than anything else, is what this all comes down to. Me…giving up…on me._

She's calm. My heart is racing but she's calm. She's not angry anymore. She knows what she's going to do. She has made her mind up and she has decided that she won't live to see another morning. She's certain.

_I wish I would die._

How did I miss this? How did I miss such obvious signs.

_Sometimes I took things further and wondered how I would do it. I would tuck myself into bed and wonder if there was anything in the house I could use._

Forgive me.

_A gun? No. We never owned one. And I wouldn't know where to get one. _

_What about hanging? Well, what would I use? Where would I do it? And even if I knew what and where I could never get beyond the point of someone finding me – swinging – inches from the floor._

How did it get to this point? But I know how. Hannah's already told me. But there had to be some moment of transformation that turned a bright, bubbly, intelligent child full of innocent curiosities and transcendent smiles into the girl speaking on the tape. I wish I could say it makes no sense to me. I wish I could say that I can't see how you can get to the point where it is not only easier to let go, but it is unnatural to hold on and giving up is simply easier than holding on. I wish I didn't comprehend the deep set ache for an end; had no way to understand the days that never seem to end or the nights that despite everything only bring more pain. I didn't before her death. Not really. Not truly.

I do now. The answer can be summed up in one word. One simple word. Failure. You fail to protect someone. You fail to make amends where they are needed. You fail to hold up your end of a bargain. Your failures, some large, some small, all mount on your shoulders with a crushing weight until you are a mere shadow of a human, a ghost of who you once were. Some failures perhaps haunt you more than others, but the end result is the same. It's amazing how little it takes to push someone beyond the realms of an ordinary darkness into a never ending cycle of hell.

_It became a sick sort of game, imagining ways to kill myself. And there are some pretty weird and creative ways._

They say that's fairly common. The focus on how to kill yourself if you're truly suicidal. Hell, I've done enough of it since Hannah died, simply to find a way to outrun my guilt. If I take pills to ease my passing from this life then that is a coward's way out, but at least it is an easy one. It is, providing you pick your drugs carefully and precisely, a painless and quiet way out of this messy and chaotic life. The surest method of ensuring death would be for me to jump in front of a train or other high speed object but that is blunt, brutal and messy. The same goes for high buildings and bridges. There is no art form to it only a jumbled, mangled mess of what used to be a human being. Then of course there is how I plan to be found; do I want some innocent walker or family with small children to come across a body hanging limply from a nearby tree? So you see, death isn't as simple as you may imagine. For a perfect death there has to be a symmetry, there has to be an art form, a formation. A bloated body washed ashore is simply ugly, there is nothing there to show of what life once resided within the carcass that now is.

The thoughts that you can't say out-loud, the ones which would be a sure fire way to get yourself locked up in a mental asylum. But the thoughts that swirl around regardless of the knowledge that they are forbidden.

_Do you remember the last thing you ever said to me?_

Yes. "Hannah, wait." She was leaving the classroom. I told her to wait. But I didn't make the effort to go after her.

_The last thing you did to me?_

I let you walk out of that room without a backwards glance.

_And what was the last thing I said to you? Because trust me, when I said it, I knew it was the last thing I'd ever say._

"I'm talking about my life, Mr Porter." That's what she said. The life that she threw away that evening. The life I could have saved. She knew exactly what she was going to do when she spoke to me. She knew then that she was going to die. She gave me that one chance to help her. And I failed her. If I had a chance to replay things, press rewind and undo the past, I would move heaven and earth to get to her, to save her from herself. No matter what the later consequences I wouldn't have let the final meeting stand, I'd face the heavenly wrath of the Father himself if necessary.

_And then, someone called my name._

_Over the tall wooden fence at the side of her house, a head poked up. And whose head would that be? Bryce Walker's._

Jock. Bully. Looking at a scholarship for sporting achievements. Good job really as he has no hope of getting a decent place on brains alone.

_Courtney rolled her head my way but kept her eyes shut. "We're in our underwear," she said._

This is what she was talking about when she said there'd been an incident at the party.

_Everyone knows who you are, Bryce. Everyone knows what you do. But I, for the record, did nothing to stop you._

No. You wanted him to destroy you completely. You wanted to let go. You needed a reason. A final reason.

_Your fingers made their way under my bra. But you didn't grab me. Testing the boundaries I guess. Sliding your fingers along the underside of my breasts._

I'm going to throw up. I come to the realisation just in time to make it to the bathroom. I can hear Hannah's voice indistinctly as lean over the bowl of the toilet retching compulsively for several long minutes. Rewinding the tape back I go back to where I'd left off.

_Bryce, you had to see my jaw clench. You had to see my tears. Does that kind of shit turn you on?_

I'm going to kill him.

_You were touching me…but I was using you. I needed you, so I could let go of me completely._

I am so going to kill him.

_For everyone listening, let me be clear. I did not say no or push his hand away. All I did was turn my head, clench my teeth, and fight back tears. And he saw that. _

Slowly. Painfully. And with the greatest amount of pleasure.

_"Just relax," he said. "Everything will be okay."_

Just…relax. The words slam into my brain. The force of them nearly physically knocks me off my seat and I find myself rushing back into the bathroom to retch up whatever is left in my stomach. Just…relax. "Just relax, I only need a few minutes." "Just relax, I'm only messing." "Just relax, everything will be ok." Just relax. It was Bryce. That's why she's repeated that line. It was Bryce. And I am going to have his balls for it. I'll have his balls, his scholarship and his freedom.

_When you were done, Bryce, I got out of the hot tub and walked two houses away. The night was over. I was done._

Just relax. I'm going to kill him. I am honestly going to kill him. He didn't rape Hannah Baker, that I know. But he did rape someone.

Just relax.


	15. I'm talking about my life

**Chapter 15: I'm talking about my life**

_And you, lucky number thirteen, you can take the tapes straight to hell. Depending on your religion, maybe I'll see you there._

I sit blankly looking at the final tape. There is only one tape left. And it must be mine. I am the lucky thirteenth. The unlucky thirteenth. The one who let a teenager kill herself because he didn't understand, didn't follow her, didn't care enough to look behind the surface and ask the right questions. I'm going to have to be at the school in a matter of hours. I dread what they are going to think of me. I am the one to take the tapes to hell. That is my responsibility. That is my role. I hold final responsibility. I killed a girl. I don't know what she's going to say about me. I don't know if I can bear to hear my guilt spilling out of the tape machine. But I have to. That is my role. That is my only purpose now. To shoulder the burden of her dead heart. The blood on my hands will not come off easily.

_One…last…try…_

She's whispering. You can barely make out the words she's talking so quietly.

_I'm giving life one last chance. And this time, I'm getting help. I'm asking for help because I cannot do this alone. I've tried that._

My entire body is shaking. She came to me. My breathing is ragged and my heart beat is fluctuating alarmingly. I can't cope. I can't do this. Hitting pause I put my head between my knees in an attempt to stop the room from swirling around me. I'm at the end of my strength.

_Of course, if you're listening to this. I failed. Or he failed. And if he fails, the deal is sealed._

Hail Mary, mother of God. Hail Mary, full of grace. Hail Mary, mother of God.

I failed. I certainly failed. My lack of judgement cost a young girl her life. Her death is completely my fault. Her blood is on my hands.

_Only one person stands between you and this collection of audiotapes: Mr. Porter._

For the third time this evening I rise from my chair and find myself retching in the toilet. I hit stop before I left this time but I don't think I have the strength to stand up. I'm clutching the toilet seat with shaking hands. The responsible adult. The unlucky thirteenth.

_- Hannah. Glad you made it._

That's me. She taped it. She taped the conversation. I have to hear everything I missed through a muffled audiotape. The room seems to be spinning as I hold onto the chair so hard that my knuckles are white and my hands feel like they are breaking. It's not enough to hear her voice every day in my memories and every night in my dreams. I have to hear it live and in stereo. There can be no doubting how much I failed. There can be no second chances. There is no mistake.

_Right now I feel lost, I guess. Sort of empty._

_—Empty how? _

_Just empty. Just nothing. I don't care anymore._

First chance. First point where I could have picked up. Lost, empty, hopeless. She came to me for help.

_I need it to stop. _

_—You need what to stop? _

_I need everything to stop. People. Life._

Second chance. Second chance to pick up the fact that the young girl in my office couldn't cope with life and wanted everything to stop, wanted to get away from life. Second chance to see how truly desperate she was. Second chance to save her.

_- Hannah, do you know what you just said?_

Of course she knew what she had just said. She needed me to notice. To act. She needed me to hear her; and I failed. I knew what she'd just said and I still failed to act on it.

_—You said you wanted life to stop, Hannah. Your life?_

It was blatantly clear what she'd said. Why did I let her leave the room?

_—Is that what you meant to say, Hannah? Those are very serious words, you know?_

Of course she knew that. She knew exactly how serious the words she had just spoken were and instead of taking them as such, I gave her the chance to back out. She knew from before she even entered the office. She gave me a chance and I squandered it. By the time she entered my office, twelve of these tapes had already been recorded; she had already made a choice. But she gave herself one last chance to turn away from it; she tried to open up one last time. And she came to me. She came to me and I let her walk away.

_I know. They are. I'm sorry._

And yet again, I was too much of a coward to follow it up, I accepted her words at face value just as I accepted everything as a child. I knew something was wrong, you can hear that in my voice, but it was easier to let it go, let it be someone else's problem. But it couldn't be someone else's problem, she wasn't anyone else's problem because she came to me. She came to me and put her life in my hands and I let it slip through my fingers because I was too much of a coward to do what I knew had to be done.

I have been a coward since I was old enough to know what cowardice was, and probably before then. I've been a coward all the years that I've rolled with the punches and cried in the corner, all the years that I watched and did nothing to help. I've been a coward since I learned that keeping quiet was the best way to avoid any more displeasure, that it was easier to make excuses for the bruises and the limps than to deal with the problem behind them. Every time I looked into my sister's eyes and knew exactly what she was going through but was more afraid of him than of what was happening to her.

_Nothing. I'm joking. _

_—But you'll tell me if you hear anything. _

_I promise._

It was easier to cover how uneasy I was with the easy smile and occasional joke cracked than to actually see how much the child in front of me was breaking. How lost she was, how desperate she was, how afraid. I could have easily seen the tears that were lying so close to the surface, I had the chance to see the helplessness in the face in front of me. The body language was all there; the way her eyes never left the floor of my office, how closed she was as through her despair she couldn't see any other way out of it. The tense edge screaming that she was hurt, had been hurt and was desperate not to let anyone else hurt her again.

_—Well, if you won't press charges, if you're not sure if you even can press charges, then you have two options . _

_What? What are they?_

How come I can so easily hear the desperate hope in her voice now? I can remember how her eyes actually came up from the floor and the look in them as she stared at me. She was begging me to give her another option, she was depending completely on me giving her a way to continue living. I didn't see it at the time. It was only looking back at the meeting, looking back when it was already too late that I recognised it. A look I had hoped I'd never see again. The look of someone who has given up all hope that anything can ever get better, the look of someone who has reached the end of what they can bear being given a rope to hold onto the. Something to grasp. All of her hope was dependant on my responses and I had no idea how important they were. But that's a lie. I did. I just didn't want to recognise it.

_—Or two , and I'm not trying to be blunt here, Hannah, but you can move on. _

_You mean, do nothing?_

She couldn't do nothing, that was what she was trying to tell me. This had already gone too far, she had nothing left to give. She needed me to give her hope that there was some chance of redemption, some chance to make things better in the middle of the chaos and the mess. Instead I gave her empty words and a fixed smile. I left her thinking that the only hope that could be found was in death, that death was the only way to achieve anything. That if she couldn't find happiness in life she could at least find oblivion in death and be done with it.

_—It is an option, and that's all we're talking about. Look, something happened, Hannah. I believe you. But if you won't press charges and you won't confront him, you need to consider the possibility of moving beyond this._

It was never an option. Not for Hannah. She knew she couldn't move on without help, she knew that was impossible. I should have seen it in the way her face changed as I spoke, the way her body shut down further and her eyes went back to the floor. I could have seen it but I didn't want to look. Once again I find myself breaking down as I hear my own words reflected back at me. Have I been able to move on from Hannah's death? Have I been able to forget? How could I ever have expected Hannah to do the same?

_You want me to move beyond this._

It's not a question. I thought it was a question. It's not. It's an outright statement. And she knows she can't do it. She knows I'm asking the impossible. But I just nodded. I thought that was the end of it. I never realised what the real end would be. I never thought that a stunning student with a brilliant future in front of her would be dead the next morning. I never thought I could have so much of an effect on the life of anyone. I never thought that it would be the words that I didn't say that would make such a difference. The words I didn't even think to say. The things I didn't notice. The things I didn't do.

_Thank you, Mr. Porter._

Hannah. Stop. You can't leave. Hannah, what's wrong. What's really wrong. What are you thinking of doing. Hannah, I am not letting you leave. Please. Talk to me. Trust me. Believe me. I want to help you. You are not alone.

_—Hannah. Wait. You don't need to leave._

My eyes are closed. My breathing tight. This is where the final person in the cycle truly fails Hannah Baker. This is where the cycle ends.

_I think I'm done here. I got what I came for._

No! You are not done here! I want to scream at myself, shake me by my stupid shoulders and force myself to see what is staring me straight in the face. Do not let her leave that room! You are that girls last chance, last hope, last breath of survival. Do not let her leave that room. Don't just sit at your desk looking at her. Do something! For heaven's sake, this is your only chance!

_—Not get over it, Hannah . But sometimes there's nothing left to do but move on._

Shut up you stupid man! Stop prattling and actually do something to help her. Do something to change her mind. Anything. Just help her. Please.

_Because I need to get on with things, Mr. Porter. If nothing's going to change, then I'd better get on with it, right?_

I am listening to the words of a girl I killed as surely as if I had placed a gun to her head. I gave her the weapon which she used against herself. Nothing's going to change, so where is the point in carrying on. If you can't get over it then at the very least you can give up, make the pain stop, make the world go away. If you can't live with what's going on around you then at least you can make the active choice to not live at all. That is a decision you can make. It's the act of desperation, throwing your life away because you don't think there is anything left to live for.

_—Hannah, what are you talking about?_

How blind was I? How did I miss this? It's so blatantly obvious. She's talking about her life. Or more specifically, her death. How much more clear could she have been? What would it have taken for me to take notice and do something. But you can hear from my tone that I'm worried, you can't see it but I was leaning forwards, across the table, desperately trying to figure out what was going on.

_I'm talking about my life, Mr. Porter._

Final chance. Final point where I could have realised exactly what was going on in this sparring of oblique words and phrases. She wasn't talking about getting on with her life. She was talking about getting on with ending it. In hindsight it's so clear. But even at that point I was concerned. It was one of the phrases that kept playing in my head that evening. It seemed so ominous, so unexpected. But still I did nothing. Still I sat there.

_—Hannah, wait._

But she didn't.

_I'm walking down the hall. His door is closed behind me. It's staying closed._

She wanted me to open it. She wanted me to follow her. She needed me to come after her. But I didn't.

_He's not coming._

Why did I let her leave that room?

_He's letting me go._

I let her go. I failed her.

_I think I've made myself very clear, but no one's stepping forward to stop me._

I should have seen the signs.

_A lot of you cared, just not enough. And that… that is what I needed to find out._

The tears are still cascading down my face. I could have stopped her. If I'd have been bothered to look. She wanted me to stop her. She wanted me to reach out. And I didn't.

_And I did find out._

No. You thought you did.

_And I'm sorry._

No, Hannah. It's me who should be sorry. And I am.

So, so sorry.


	16. Showdown

**Chapter 16: Showdown**

I knew what I had to do. I'd sat there for so long staring blindly at the tape player that I couldn't see anything else. There was only one thing I could do. I rewound all of the tapes to the beginning except for three of them which I stopped at very specific points. It was time for school. I packaged them back up, put my cassette player into a bag with them and started walking into school. I'd pick the car up later. The walk would help me think.

By the time I got to the school my mind was made up. I walked straight down the corridors, ignoring the students starting to mill around. I was heading to one place in particular. I was heading to Clifford Reece's office. Our esteemed headmaster. I didn't knock. I just walked straight in and his head jerked upwards at the sudden intrusion.

"The door is there for a reason you know," he complained peevishly.

I didn't justify his remark with a response. I simply put the bag on the table and pulled out the items that were inside. I carefully set the tape recorder down with the first tape within it then finally turned to him, handing a piece of paper silently across the table.

"What on earth is wrong with you!? You look like death and smell like a brewery…" his eyes narrowed as he read what was on the paper in front of him. "We've already been through this. I am not accepting your resignation."

"I'd wait before you make that decision," I said calmly. My heart was thudding but I'd be damned if I was going to let that show. "I need you to call the following students into your office as a matter of urgency. Justin Foley, Alex Standall, Jessica Davis, Tyler Down, Courtney Crimsen, Marcus Cooley, Zach Dempsey, Ryan Shaver, Clay Jensen, Jenny Curtz, and Bryce Walker. It may also be helpful for you to bring Mrs. Bradley in."

Clifford looked at me with the same look that the bartender had given me the previous evening. Like he was searching me for any sign that I'd completely lost it and was quite concerned that this was going to end really, really badly. Which it very well might in fairness. Finally he nodded. But before he could move I added.

"It's really important that none of them know the others have been called until they get here. Trust me. You'll understand in a bit."

Again he looked at me then left the office shaking his head. He returned a few minutes later.

"I've sent a runner out. Now. Are you going to tell me what's going on? And explain why you've lodged an obsolete bit of kit in the centre of my desk?"

I looked at him steadily.

"No. You'll understand why after."

His eyes narrowed again. If there was one thing Clifford hated it was being kept in the dark. But I doubted he'd let me go through with this if he knew. And I wasn't going to let that happen.

"Honest to God, I hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I, sir. So do I."

So we waited in silence until the first teenager appeared, nervously knocking and entering the office. Jessica. I watched as her eyes snapped to the cassette player and she lost any colour she previously had. The slow procession of kids walked in the door until I had ten students in the office, all of them completely fixated on the tape player as if it were the only thing in the universe to the extent that even Clifford was looking at it quizzically. I guess at that moment it was. Shortly afterwards the runner came back saying that Bryce had said he had other things to do, that he'd pop by later.

My response was brisk and brutal.

"Could you please inform Bryce that if he does not appear in this office within the next five minutes then I will be revoking all of his football and rugby privileges." Cliffords eyes bulged. "As he is more than aware, without the sports his hopes of getting a scholarship are slim at best. You can also assure him that I am not joking; I am as far away from joking as it is possible to be. I want him here, now."

The runner legged it out the office almost knocking Mrs. Bradley over as she entered the office. She'd caught the last part of my speech and was looking at me curiously. It's not like me to be that harsh. I'm the joker, the friend of the kids, the one they go to when they're in trouble. But finally, Bryce slouched into the office, quite clearly in a foul mood. Well, that was about to get a whole lot worse.

With all in attendance and amusingly in the correct order I moved slowly to the cassette player, letting their attention focus on my hand just above the play button for several tense seconds before hitting the button.

_Hello boys and girls. Hannah Baker here. Live and in stereo._

_No return engagements. No encores. And this time absolutely no requests._

The effect was instantaneous. Clifford nearly fell off his chair in shock. Mrs. Bradley's hands leapt to her mouth in horror as all of the colour drained from her face in a split second. The kids all just stood in silence, staring helplessly at the machine that had changed their lives forever. Just like it changed mine. Clifford made a motion to stop the tape, but my hand was placed protectively above the buttons and he could do nothing but listen in disbelief as the voice of a dead teenager resounded around his office.

_I hope you're ready because I'm about to tell you the story of my life. More specifically, the story of why my life ended. And if you are listening to these tapes, you're one of the reasons why._

_I'm not saying which tape brings you into the story. But fear not, if you received this lovely little box, your name will crop up. I promise._

_Now why would a dead girl lie?_

_Hey, that sounds like a joke._

_Why would a dead girl lie? Because she can't stand up._

_Go ahead._

_Laugh._

_Well, I thought it was funny._

All eyes are entirely focussed on the old machine in front of them. Nobody makes a sound. Nobody moves. It's as if time has stopped around us.

_The rules are pretty simple. There are only two. Rule number one: You listen. Number two: You pass it on. Hopefully, neither one should be easy for you._

_When you're done listening to all thirteen sides – because there are thirteen sides to every story – rewind the tapes, put them back in the box, and pass them on to whoever follows your little tale. And you, lucky number thirteen, you can take the tapes straight to hell._

_Depending on your religion, maybe I'll see you there._

In case you're tempted to break the rules, understand that I did make a copy of these tapes. These copies will be released in a very public manner if this package doesn't make it through all of you.

_This was not a spur-of-the-moment decision._

_Do not take me for granted…again._

_You are being watched._

I silently hit the stop button, take the tape out and insert the second tape in one swift motion. Every eye in the room is watching me. I let the silence stretch a couple more moments until I see Clifford start to move.

Then I speak.


	17. Absolution

**Chapter 17: Absolution**

I point to Justin.

"You are an idiot. It's as simple as that." I reflect for a second that my job is almost certainly done for as I feel the shock resound across the room. But I knew that before I started this. "You created a stupid rumour that destroyed the reputation of the new girl in town purely because you wanted to boast to your friends."

I look straight into his eyes, trying to will my next words deep into his soul.

"But, no matter what else you are guilty of and believe me, we'll get to that, you are not guilty for Hannah Bakers death."

I turn to look at Alex. He's practically shaking. You can see it from across the room.

"You created a stupid and juvenile list that was certainly in poor taste. But you are not responsible for the actions of others. You could not have foreseen the unintended consequences. You did not grab her ass, you did not twist her wrist, you did not try to force yourself on her. No matter what she thought, you are not responsible for Hannah Bakers death."

He's closed his eyes and I see the silent tear falling down his cheek. None of them look like they've slept in weeks. There's every chance they haven't. I turn to Jessica.

"You let a rumour destroy both a relationship and a friendship and in doing so you hurt someone who hadn't done anything except try to be your friend." Without letting my eyes leave Jessica I address Alex. "Alex, did you sleep with Hannah Baker?"

The response is immediate.

"No."

"Did you ever kiss Hannah Baker?"

"No."

"Did Hannah Baker ever come onto you?"

The response is slower, but it comes.

"No."

"Jessica, you preferred to believe a lie rather than the truth because it was easier. You stabbed your friend in the back." She makes no effort to hide the tears that are streaming down her face as she wipes her face with her sleeve. "Do you still believe that rumour?" There's a slight shake of her head. "Good. You've learned something at least. But regardless of the damage you did, you are not responsible for Hannah Baker's death."

I wordlessly grab the container of tissues that always lies on Clifford's desk and hand them to her. Then I turn to Tyler and I let the anger I feel leak into my voice. He looks terrified.

"There is in all honesty, no nice way to put this. Tyler Down, you are a creep." There's a gargled grunt from behind me which I assume is Clifford trying not to laugh as well as being outraged. But I continue regardless. "You used your yearbook status as a tool to sneak outside a classmates bedroom while she was alone and vulnerable. You took photos of her whilst she was undressing." Mrs Bradley looks thunderous. "You abused your position and your responsibilities in order to get cheap thrills out of sneaking around removing someone else's safety and security.

"You are removed from the Yearbook staff with immediate effect."

There's a shriek from Tyler.

"What!? You can't do that!"

My tone brooks no argument and even Mrs. Bradley is nodding at me.

"I can and I am. Unless you wish me to get the police involved then you will shut up and take your punishment. I will also be ringing your parents to facilitate the removal of your photography equipment. All of it."

"But that's…"

"I told you to shut it." That worked. "If you cannot hold adult positions without abusing them then you can have no complaints when you are treated like a child. And don't worry, I will be informing your parents of the full reasons behind my request."

He's shaking. I don't know whether it's due to rage or embarrassment.

"But regardless of your inappropriate and down-right perverted behaviour?" I soften my voice slightly. "You are not responsible for Hannah Bakers death."

Mrs. Bradley is looking at me with a strange expression that I can't quite place as I turn and look at Courtney who is openly weeping.

"Courtney, I don't know what to say. I'd thought you were better than this. I'd thought you were different. I was wrong, But, although you've let me down, let yourself down and let those who trusted you down? You are still not responsible for Hannah Bakers death."

I move on quickly and point to Marcus, my face set hard as granite.

"You took advantage of a vulnerable young girl who only wanted to be able to trust someone. I shouldn't have to tell you that if someone is fighting to remove your hands then you leave them alone. I shouldn't have to tell you that if a girl says stop then you bloody well stop. I shouldn't have to tell you. But I do. Hannah shouldn't have had to shove you out of that booth. You had no right and no excuse for treating her that. But again, you are not responsible for Hannah Bakers death."

Marcus looks at me defiantly.

"I know that. She just wanted an excuse to kill herself and I was a handy target."

Reining my temper in I answer him coldly.

"If you think that then you're even more of a fool than I gave you credit for, which is really quite impressive." He had the decency to look slightly abashed. "You can say that to excuse yourself and try to wiggle out of any guilt you may feel, but just because I said you're not responsible? That doesn't mean you didn't play your part.

"I'm sure two months of solitary detention on how to respect the opposite sex and not act like a jerk should help to balance your views."

There's another splutter from behind me. I am breaking every rule of professionalism and Clifford knows it. He's giving me the leave to do this because I left him no choice and he won't gainsay a member of staff in front of the kids. But I've called them idiots, jerks and creeps. I've come damn close to swearing. My job is over. I have nothing left to lose.

"Zach. You are guilty of two things. The first you owe an apology to Mrs. Bradley for." I wait, the seconds stretching. "No?" There is still nothing from the boy but he looks on the brink of tears. "Well then, I'll start you off. You were petty, vengeful, spiteful and childish and you used Mrs. Bradley's class as a weapon. Now that's out of the way will you please continue." Silence. "I have all day Zach."

There's a mumble from in front of me. I just about make out the words 'I stole…'.

"Not loud enough Zach."

The voice that emerges from the teenager cracks like broken glass.

"I stole Hannah's notes."

"And when Hannah confronted you about it?" There's silence. "What happened?" I let this silence stretch to half a minute as Zach squirms. "You see that was your other failure." Silence. "Not only did you take away the only sense of hope Hannah had left simply because you felt rebuffed, you did something worse didn't you? What did you do?" I wait as if I'm expecting an answer. I know there won't be one. "Ok then, easier question. What was in that last note you stole?"

This time I am waiting for an answer and I look expectantly at Zach. But it's not Zach who speaks. The response is from several teenagers down. I look in surprise at Clay, his red eyes speaking a story without words.

"Hannah said that she could have really used any encouragement that was in those notes. Encouragement that he stole. She admitted that she was close to giving up."

"Thank you Clay. Now. Mrs. Bradley." I turn to her theatrically, watching as she recovered from her shock at suddenly being called on. "Do you remember what was in the note left in your bag? The one you brought to me?"

Her voice is soft as she responds.

"Yes, I don't think I will ever forget."

"Would you care to tell us for the benefit our headmaster and young Zach here who has clearly forgotten?"

"Suicide." Her voice cracks and she looks down. "It's something I've been thinking about. Not too seriously but I have been thinking about it. That's it. Word for word."

"Would you mind telling us how you felt when you received this note?"

She looks straight at Clifford. Her eyes a plea for understanding. For forgiveness.

"I was concerned. Very concerned. I went to Mr. Porter. But we…we didn't know who had written it." She chokes back a sob. "We did our best. I promise you. We did our best."

"We didn't know who had written." I emphasise it. "We didn't know. But you did, didn't you Zach? You know Hannah had written that note and you chose to do nothing. You chose to play God. Why didn't you come to us? Why didn't you speak to one of us?" There's silence but I can see his lower lip starting to tremble. "Was it pride?" He runs his hand through his hair. I gentle my voice. "Was it shame?" I watch as tears start falling wordlessly down his face. He doesn't try to wipe them away. "Was it fear?"

His shoulders are shaking. Tears are falling freely. His eyes are down to the floor and I nod to Mrs. Bradley who gets the message. She walks over and puts a hand gently on his shoulder.

"It doesn't matter Zach. What is done is done. All of us could have done things differently. And I think you really liked Hannah Baker. That's why you were so hurt by her response." There's a slight smile from Clay. "Am I right?"

Zach nods as his sobs become more audible. None of the other kids look at him. They all spare him that shame. Even Bryce. Despite everything, sometimes my kids make me proud.

"Zach Dempsey." I wait for him to look at me, wait for his eyes to fix on me. I put as much power, as much warmth, as much reassurance into my next words as I can. "Zach, there are many things you could have done differently, there are many things we all could have done differently. But Zach, listen to me. Trust me. Believe me. You are not, and never will be, responsible for Hannah Bakers death."

I wait a long moment for Zach to get his sobs under control before turning to Ryan. I give him time to collect himself, time to think about what I've just said. Because he needed to hear that. But then I turn to the eighth student in this line who looks at me with a mix of hope and fear.

"Lost and Found? Or Stolen and Grabbed? Perhaps you need to re-brand. You never did say who wrote that poem did you? The one we all dissected in the classroom. But you didn't find it, did you? She trusted you with her heart and soul and you betrayed that trust. You, like so many of us in this room, left Hannah Baker out to dry. You cared more about your stupid magazine than you did about a friend who had trusted you with the only thing she had left. You threw her away when the first opportunity came along. And out of all of the betrayals, yours probably hurt the most. You put her heart and soul open for the mockery of her peers, you took her innermost thoughts and propelled them into public view like a tabloid journalist. And you did nothing to stop the mockery. But even with that in mind? Ryan, I promise you; you are not responsible for Hannah Bakers death."

So I turn to Clay. And I smile.

"Clay. Clay, you out of all of us don't belong here and everyone knows it." There are some nods from the assembled teenagers. "Out of all of us here, you are the only one who never failed Hannah, never let her down and always stayed by her side. She loved you and you deserved that love. But you still blame yourself. You still feel as if you could have done more. Should have done more.

"Clay. Look at me. You were a broken girl's salvation and the flickering light in an ever growing darkness. You were everything she ever wanted, but you had none of the experience needed to recognise the problem. You did everything you could have. Clay. No matter what you think, no matter how much you blame yourself, hear my words. You are not to blame. You, more than any of us, hold no responsibility for Hannah's death. You are blameless."

I stop as I realise that despite my efforts my voice is breaking. I blink away the tears that have started to gather and let all assembled see that even the teacher cries. Mrs. Bradley wipes her face as I take a shaky breath and gather myself.

But then I turn back to Justin.


	18. Repentance

***TRIGGER WARNING - THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS REFERENCE TO RAPE AND MAY BE EMOTIONALLY TRIGGERING***

**Chapter 18: Repentance**

For a long, long moment I don't say a word. I simply stare at him. I let the silence build and the tension grow until he breaks my gaze, looking down silently at the floor. He's white, breathing quickly and only just holding himself together. He knows what's coming now.

"Justin Foley. You did more than just create a rumour. You ruined a life." The gasp from behind me says Clifford hadn't expected that. It sounds like I'm laying all the blame on Justin's shoulders after absolving the others. It doesn't seem fair. But then, Clifford doesn't know what I know. My gaze is still locked on Justin and my voice is as cold as ice. "Just relax. Do you remember those words? Do you understand what you've done?"

"Mr Porter, please…" I whirl to face Clifford before he gets any further in his objections. I don't know what he sees in my eyes but he cuts off his sentence. He takes a step backwards as if washing his hands of whatever happens next, but I can see the true concern in his eyes. Concern not just for Justin, but also for me.

"Justin Foley. You condemned a young girl to nightmares, flashbacks and unforgiving memories. Do you have any idea how she must be feeling right now?" It's painfully obvious that Justin is choking back tears as he hyperventilates. He's panicking. Anything I say now is not going to sink in. And I want it to sink in. I need to reach him. I let the sharp whip edge reach my voice.

"Justin. Look at me." He does and the shame in his eyes is painful to witness. "Breath in and out slowly for me. Count to ten in your head as you do so." I walk across the room to fetch a chair which I place behind him motioning for him to sit down, then without asking I open Clifford's drawers until I find what I'm looking for. Something as simple as an A4 envelope. Kneeling beside the boy I hand him the envelope telling him to breathe into it for me. And silently we wait. We wait as he slowly stops shaking and gradually gets his breathing under control.

"Justin Foley. You let a girl be raped knowing in advance what was going to happen." I can almost feel it as Clifford's head snaps up. "When you let him into that bedroom you knew she was too drunk to fight, too drunk to scream. You knew she had no chance. And you let it happen." If it's possible to pour more scorn into my voice. "'Just relax. I'm only playing.' Is that what you count as playing? Do you see this as a game?"

When Justin finally speaks his voice is almost obscured by the tears that are blocking his throat.

"Sir…it wasn't like that. I didn't…"

"You didn't what? You didn't know? You didn't realise what was going to happen? Of course you did. You knew and you let it happen. You didn't rape that girl but you let it happen. Had you not let him into that room it would never have happened. Do you know why she hasn't come forward? Do you understand what you've done? She hasn't come forward because she's ashamed and she's frightened. She's frightened that everyone will blame her, that no one will believe her. You condemned her to a hell in which she isolates herself, praying that the world will never realise her shame. She can't tell anyone because she already blames herself enough and can't cope with them doing the same thing. She can't cope with their disbelief, their horror or their anger. She doesn't want to see their pity, their condescension, the look in their eyes that says 'but it wouldn't happen to me' in the knowledge that they are stronger than you.

"And it's your fault. You let her be raped.

"It isn't a game to the girl you left alone in that room. It's not a game to the girl left feeling complicit in the crime against her, the crime she had no power over. It's not a game when she's too ashamed to talk, too afraid of judgement."

I can see each and every word hitting home. I watch as Justin becomes smaller and smaller as if he thinks he can shrink away from the condemnation as if he can simply disappear.

"It's not a game to the girl who will forever blame herself because she was too drunk to fight, too drunk to scream, too drunk to do anything but lie there. Too drunk to say no. Too weak to have any chance of fighting back. It's not a game to the girl who now feels soiled, damaged, worthless because you were too weak to save her when you knew what was going to happen. It is not a game."

I'd been that focussed on Justin that I hadn't been paying attention to any of the other teenagers in the room, but a sudden movement from Mrs. Bradley took the wind from my sails. And I can see why she's moved, I can see what's attracted her attention. Jessica has backed herself into the corner of the room and the snapshot I get just before she collapses into a huddled ball speaks more loudly than anything I could ever have said. Her face is white, drawn and horror stricken. Her breathing is ragged and the sobs that emerge from her chest are harrowing.

There's silence as the implications sink in. It hadn't occurred to me that she might be in this room. It had never occurred to me that she had already been on the list. But between the look on Justin's face as he watches her, the shame in his eyes and the helplessness in his face, and Jessica's complete disintegration there can only be one conclusion. It was Jessica who was raped. It was Jessica that Justin left alone. Clifford has evidently come to the same conclusion judging by the horror-stricken look on his face as he watches a girl give into complete fear and desolation. One of our own.

The normal rules of teacher professionalism have flown out the window. Mrs Bradley has her arm around Jessica who is helplessly sobbing into her chest and we all stand in stunned silence, unsure of what to do now. The spell that I had been winding around them all has been broken and once again they are simply unsure teenagers, completely lost in a situation far beyond anything they know how to cope with. But I've started something. And I can't stop now.

"Justin." His eyes flick back to mine. "You and Hannah are both to blame for a horrific crime. You let it happen and she watched from the cupboard, too afraid to do anything about it. Both of you let it happen and that is a guilt you are going to have to carry for the rest of your life just like Jessica is going to have to carry the memories." I almost flinched when I said her name. It made it so much more personal, so much closer to home.

"But Justin. You alone are not responsible and regardless of your guilt here, you are not to blame for Hannah's death. The knowledge of what she'd allowed to happen as much as the fact that you also let it happen is what was playing on her mind. You could not change that. But you are going to have to think very carefully about what you are going to do next."

His head sinks into his arms. He knows I'm going to ask who he let into that room. But I don't. Not yet. That will come later.

The sobs from the corner of the room are still audible and Mrs. Bradley is murmuring something to the distressed girl that I can't quite make out. She hasn't let go of the girl once. I'm becoming very glad that I did ensure that she was in the room. I don't think either myself or Clifford would have been able to be anywhere near as comforting a presence.

But I have to continue. And so I turn to Jenny.

"You are responsible for the death of a boy you didn't even know." There's a broken gasp from Clifford. He clearly hadn't realised that as the list goes on the crimes get more serious, the rot sets in deep. "You didn't mean to kill him and you didn't see him die, but that makes you no less culpable. You made two choices that night and both of them combined had fatal consequences. First, you got in your car. I can't prove it but I would suspect you'd been drinking at the party. Am I correct?"

Jenny's head is down and she's looking directly at her shoes but I catch an indistinct nod.

"You got in your car knowing that you'd been drinking. That was your first choice. Your second choice was that you refused to report the sign that you knocked over. The Stop sign. The one that caused the accident later that evening. You should have reported the fact that you had crashed into the sign and knocked it over. You could have and you should have. But you didn't, and a young man lost his life because of your irresponsible behaviour. A young man doing nothing but delivering pizza's lost his life because you considered your own reputation and hide more important than his life.

"What were your words again? "Nobody obeys Stop signs? So now there isn't one it's legal?" Do you think that boy's mother agrees? Do you think his younger brother who worshipped the ground he trod on agrees with you? Did you even know he had a brother? Or did you try to wallpaper over the incident just like someone fixed your bumper in record time? Do you think that elderly man who now has to spend the remainder of his life believing that he caused the death of someone young enough to be his grandson agrees that what you did made it 'legal'? The old man who only went out to return a toothbrush who found that his life could be devastated in a second. Does he agree?"

My words are deliberately harsh. They have to be. They have to strike home. She has to understand.

"Hannah went to her grave believing herself responsible for the death of a young man who had everything to live for. But she wasn't. You were. You are guilty of drink diving, dangerous driving and causing death by negligence, not to mention leaving the scene of an accident. Do you realise what that means?

There's no response from the teenager in front of me but I can tell she does. It shows in her face. It's white, drawn and as her eyes flick up at me I can see the outright fear as well as the shame.

"Jenny," again I wait for her to look up at me. "You are guilty of stupidity, irresponsibility, arrogance and outright selfishness. That cost one family the life of their son, their brother, the nephew and their love. It cost them the hopes and dreams they had for their first-born child and left them with a hole in their hearts that nothing can ever heal. Every time they see a flash of dark hair they are going to see him. Every time they see a baseball shirt or smell his aftershave, for one millisecond they are going to see him before the reality of their loss hits them again. You caused that. By one stupid, irresponsible action you subjected that family to the loss of their pride and joy, the focus of their love and the pinnacle of their world."

I turn to look briefly at Clifford and I'm shocked to see that he's crying. The man who controls this place is crying and I don't think he even realises that he is. I turn away, unsettled by the weakness shown by someone I thought untouchable.

"But Jenny? You do not have two deaths on your conscience. You did not cause Hannah Baker's death. Her feelings of guilt certainly played on her mind and were a cause for her actions, and yes, you had a part in that. She felt that she should have stopped you. She felt that she was responsible and that is a heavy burden for anyone to carry. Including you.

"You made a huge mistake and I won't lie to you, we are going to have to seriously think about how we are going to respond. But you weren't malicious, you didn't mean to cause any harm and you certainly didn't mean to set in play a chain of events that would cost a boy his life. That was never your intention. I can't promise you that everything is going to be ok. I don't know what's going to happen next. What I can promise you Jenny, is that I will be beside you every step of the way. I can promise you that you won't be deserted by us. I can promise you that you will always have support. I can also promise you that you are not responsible for Hannah's death. She made that choice, not you. You have enough of a burden to carry without adding anything else to it."

Jessica's sobs have quieted although her head is still resting on Mrs. Bradley. I look at Bryce for a long moment. There is so much I want to say. But there's something that has to happen first.

I look each and every one of them in the eye before my next words.


	19. Confession

**Chapter 19: Confession**

"I am responsible for Hannah Baker's death."

Despite my best efforts I cannot stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks. I turn to Clifford.

"She came to me for help and I failed her. She told me that she wanted everything to end and I didn't take it seriously. I let her walk out of my office knowing something was seriously wrong. I let her down and she died because of it. I am responsible for Hannah Baker's death."

I hold up a hand to forestall Clifford from speaking as I turn back to the assembled teenagers.

"Every single one of us here in the room today with one exception fucked up. Some more than others but it cannot be escaped that every single one of us here seriously fucked up." They've gone beyond the point of shock now. "You all made mistakes, you all contributed to the desolation of one girl who felt she had nothing to live for. Mrs. Bradley and I should have done more when Hannah left that note in the bag. Mr. Reece is accountable for the behaviour of his students. Every single one of us failed Hannah in at least one way. Every single one of us needs to recognise that.

"But I hold full responsibility for Hannah Baker's death. That is not a burden any of you should have to bear. You have your whole lives ahead of you and you need to live them out to the fullest. You cannot let this destroy you. But you can take some important lessons from it. Hannah has taught you that no matter how small you think an action is you cannot understand how much hurt it can cause, you have no way of knowing what affect it will have on someone else's life. Whether it's as simple as starting a rumour that ends up spiralling or taking someone's paper notes of encouragement when they really needed any amount of support that was offered. Everything you do has consequences and this is one hell of a hard way to learn that lesson.

"Hannah was depressed. She was not in a right frame of mind. And although you did nothing to help her, you cannot be held accountable for her death. That is my burden to bear, not yours."

Every eye in the room is on me as I speak through the tears that continue to flow.

"But there is one thing I want to know. I want to know who the rapist is. At least two of you in this room know and none of you are leaving until I find out."

I look directly at Justin as I speak. Nobody in the room speaks. Everyone keeps silent.

So I move across to the tape player once again. And I hit play.

_I'm only joking, Hannah. Just relax._

It's as if everyone in the room has stopped breathing as I pull the tape out of the player and put the next tape in. The tenth side. Where Jessica was raped.

_Just relax and step aside._

Then in a final violent movement I put the twelfth side of tape into the machine. I've already put it at the point where I need it.

_We're all just relaxing a bit._

It's not proof, but it's the best I have. And I'm certain.

_He even told me to "Just relax."_

"You didn't rape Hannah. She let you. She didn't want to. She turned her head. She clenched her teeth. But she did not say no. But the same cannot be said for Jessica, can it?"

_"Just relax," he said. "Everything will be ok."_

The silence in the room is deafening.

Finally Clifford steps forward. This time I don't stop him. I'm done. I'm through. I'm finished.

"Justin. I want an answer in the next ten seconds. I will not have my students bullied or harassed and I certainly will not stand for outright rape committed by my students. If you will not name the person you know raped one of my students then I will have no choice but to place you on permanent suspension whilst I get to the bottom of this. And believe me. I will get to the bottom of this."

I can see Justin's throat working as he desperately tries to force something out of his closed throat. But it isn't Justin who speaks. The voice comes from the corner of the room. Small, choked and raw but it still comes.

"Bryce." There's an indistinct sob. "It was Bryce."

"Don't try to pin this on me, man. I never raped no one."

Clay speaks and the suppressed rage in his voice is frightening in its intensity.

"Just Relax. It's what you say to everyone you take advantage of. But this time you went one step further."

"She was willing."

Clifford takes a step forward and for a second I think he's actually going to hit the teenager. His fists are clenched and his jaw is tight. I move towards him but he seems to recollect himself at the last second and instead storms to the phone, punching in a series of numbers.

"Police please." His voice is hard and curt. "I am calling from Colorado Academy. I wish to report a rape on one of my students and we require a police presence."

The look on Bryce's face is almost comical.

"I never raped her!"

Clifford just looks at him, the disgust clear in his face.

"I don't believe you."

Justin finally speaks. He finally forces his voice to work.

"It was Bryce. I let Bryce into the room."

"You bastard!" Bryce's voice is a growl.

Justin ignores him and looks straight at me.

"I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant any harm."

Clifford ignores him. "Bryce. You will wait in reception for the police to arrive. The reception staff will supervise. The rest of you are dismissed."

The students start to move in the direction of the door, their expressions a mixture of relief and fear. But not all of them.

Clay steps forward.


	20. Forgiveness

**Chapter 20: Forgiveness**

"Sir, you are not responsible for Hannah Baker's death." I watch him in amazement as his voice gains power and loses the tremble. "You failed her, we all did. We all could have done more, seen how much pain she was in, cared more about her. You are no different from the rest of us. You are not to blame for Hannah's death." He gestures around the entire room. "You said yourself, every single one of us fucked up, excuse my language sir. Every single one of us, with no exceptions. We all bear joint responsibility for the life and death of Hannah Baker.

"You're right. You let her walk out of your office. You should have gone after her. You should have taken her seriously. You should have asked more questions. You didn't. But I saw the look on your face that day in the classroom, sir. I heard the fear in your voice. You'd planned to talk to her. That's why you asked about her. You realised after she'd left your office that something was seriously wrong and you were planning on trying to help. You were too late, but you never meant to let Hannah go."

Everyone in the room has frozen. Every eye is on Clay as he speaks, the passion evident in his voice. Tears are falling shamelessly from my face and as Clifford hands me the tissues I can see that they are falling down his face as well. None of us expected this. None of us know how to respond.

"Sir, you cannot let this ruin you anymore than we can let it ruin us. You can take something from this. We all can. The next time we see someone who desperately needs help, we will help them. The next time we see someone lost in their own desperation we will know that we need to reach out them. We can take the message that what we do matters and we all have the power to reach out and save someone. That everything we do has an impact and we can make a difference. The same goes for all of us.

"Sir, you have absolved all of us in turn. Let me do the same for you. You made a mistake. You messed up. None of us deny that. But we all made mistakes. We all messed up. You are not responsible for Hannah Baker's death. And you have the power to ensure that you don't make the same mistake again. We all have that power."

I'm sobbing uncontrollably. I am standing in front of a group of students and I have lost all power of speech. The boy in front of me, a mere child who is speaking with such power and intensity turns to Clifford. A child is absolving me. The voice of innocence speaking with the power of more seasoned wisdom.

"Sir. You can't let him go. You can't let him resign. He made a mistake like any other person but he didn't know what Hannah would do. And…" Clay falters, suddenly showing that he really is just teenager, trapped and insecure. "And despite everything, Mr. Porter has shown today that he really cares. He cares about us. He cared about Hannah. He has given us a gift that words cannot express. He has given us absolution.

"That's…that's all I wanted to say, sir."

With that he walks out the room followed by the majority of the other students. Soon the only people left in the room were me, Clifford, Mrs. Bradford and…and Jessica. Jessica still hasn't moved from her corner.

I walk slowly over to her.

I crouch beside her.

"Jessica?" My voice is soft and gentle. "Jessica, this is not your fault. I promise you, this is not your fault. Can you hear me? You are not to blame. It does not matter that you'd been drinking, he took something that wasn't his to take. You did not ask for it. He is the one to blame. He is the one who took your dignity and confidence. He is the one who decided on a whim to strip you of everything you held dear purely because he wanted to.

"Jessica. I can't make everything better, I wish I could. There is nothing I can say that will make this better and I'm not going to try. What happens now is completely in your hands. If you decide to talk to the police then we will support you every step of the way, we will be there for you. I'm not going to lie. I'm not going to patronise you. This is not going to be easy and there is no way I can make it easier for you except by being here."

Through her sobs I thought I heard something but couldn't make it out.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Can you say it again."

This time she speaks louder and I flinch at her words.

"I can't do this anymore. I just want it to stop."

I look at Clifford and find the same concern that I feel mirrored in his face.

"Jessica, please don't say that. This is not the end. We are here for you. I promise you. We are here for you."

Silently she looks up at me, and without saying a word she pulls the sleeve of her blouse up. It's a graceful movement, but there's nothing graceful about what's underneath. Row after row of neat, open cuts. Varying states of healing. I could respond with shock or horror, but I know that's not going to help. Instead I look at her arm closely.

"Have you had any of these looked at?" I know what the answer is going to be but at least one of the cuts is showing signs of infection.

She shakes her head as tears fall and I look at Clifford who moves with alarming alacrity. If he's doing what I think he is then the nurse should be hear shortly.

"Jessica, I'm not going to tell you what to do or how you ought to feel. That wouldn't be fair. But this isn't going to help. It hurts. I know. But this is not going to help."

Her shoulders are shaking as she sobs.

"It's too hard. Everything is too hard. I just can't do this. I can't do it."

"Jessica. Believe me. You can get through this and every single one of us will help you. I promise you. Every single one of us. We will not let you down.

Clifford comes back in with the nurse who he has clearly briefed on their route down. I move over to him.

"We need to call her parents. They have to know. She can't do this alone."

He looks at me for a long moment before speaking.

"That was a brave thing you did just then. A very brave thing." He looks briefly over at Jessica. "By all rights I should have your job for it, but you gave these kids something they thought they'd lost. Hope. Belief in themselves. Forgiveness. And Clay was right. You are not to blame for that girl's death any more than they are, any more than all of us are." Pausing, he picks up the resignation letter I had handed him at the beginning of this whole thing. Looking me straight in the eye, he tears it straight down the middle. "I don't want to see that piece of paper in my office again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," I nod through a haze of tears.

"Right then. Now go and have a shower then we'll discuss what we need to do next. There's no way you're talking to the police in that state; they'll think we hire lunatics."

"Yes sir," despite everything, I smile.

"And Jeremy?" I turn back to him. "If you ever pull a stunt like that in my office again without warning me? I swear I'll make you eat your own resignation letter."


End file.
